Gladys Susag

On this day of days, I decided to lighten my mood with the memory of an old friend.

I used to work at a care center in my early years of high school. Save for working the summer concessions, it was my first salaried job. I started at fourteen and stopped working at said care center a little after I turned sixteen.

My job for the longest time there was to make the evening snacks for the elderly, making sure to provide each resident with their proper diets of low salt, sugar free, gluten free, or just a simple sandwich of their choice.  I got to know a great deal of the residents there, welcoming the new, chatting and bickering with the old. A select few of the residents stuck out to me. One, above all else, was Gladys.

I loved Gladys. "Potato chips" she said every day, that blank stare, hands weakly reaching out. 

Gladys was blind, her eyes a very pale blue. She was one of the residents who actually cared to talk to me, tell me stories, recognized my voice. I became familiar to her, as she did to me. 

Before she would even tell me what evening snack she would like, I always already had the small bag of Lays ready to open whenever she gave me the cue, as she could not open them herself.

"What's the weather doing out there?" She would ask.
"Snowing. Lots of snow on the ground." I would say, sitting in her recliner next to her bed. I always like to stay if even for a moment before finishing up my day and clocking out.
"Feels like it. I bet it's covered like a winter wonderland!" She would giggle joyfully.

Even after I quit the care center (my reasons are my own, though I loved the old people) I still continued to visit regularly, even if once a month. 

I recall a time I saw Gladys three days in a row.  She had remembered my voice, and from a previous week, remembered me telling her that I had a band performance. "What instrument do you play?" She would ask, and each time I would gladly tell her, as if it had been the first time it came out of my mouth.
"The clarinet and bari sax," I would tell her. Then we would talk about how big the bari is.
For these three particular days in a row, she said to me, " My dad used to play when we were kids. Do you know what he'd play?" She said with a mischevious smile.

The first time, I smiled, curious as to what her father did play. "What was that, Miss Gladys?"

"My father played the radio! Haha!" She laughed so fondly at her own joke.

The second and third time, she asked "Do you know what he'd play?", I smiled fully, already chuckling at what she was about to tell me. Each time, I too laughed at her joke.

Her birthday was in March if memory serves me correctly, and one year I wanted to do something special for her. I remember her telling me her favourite flowers were the same as mine- tiger lilies. At random, weeks before, I found a random teacup with lilies on it. I thought it would be a perfect gift. My mum said I should get her real flowers as well, to touch.  When I got her the flowers, I got her a balloon as well- one that sang when you tapped it.

To my knowledge, Gladys, like many of the other elderly, had no one that came to visit on a regular basis, if even at all, so I didn't think I would be ruining any special birthday plans for her.

I walked in the room and knocked on her door, "Miss Gladys, it's me." I handed her the teacup, telling her what was on it, let her touch the flowers, to which she commented was lovely, then, "Here, this is a balloon. See what happens when you poke it."

With all of her 95-year-old strength, she tapped that balloon and it began to sing "Happy Birthday" to her. She giggled with delight. I stayed a bit as we talked about the weather, my schooling, and the latest care center gossip. I only saw Miss Gladys a few more times that year. I'll never forget the day I found out that Gladys - MY Gladys - had passed.

I was sitting in my senior year government class, picking up the newspapers and skimming through them for articles that I might need for my journal.  My eyes just happened upon the obituaries, and there she was. Gladys "Susie" Susag. I was shocked. I read her little article, and at the bottom the funeral was that very day that I was reading the paper- one hour before I read the damn article. I could feel my face getting hot. I was angry.

Angry that no one told me. Not a RN, CNA, Nutrition Service Aid that knew I visited- no one. Not a phone call. A heads up. I ran to my mother's office in the school building, since she worked there. She knew how much Gladys meant to me.

Before I opened my mouth, she asked what was wrong. I couldn't talk and handed the paper to her.
She looked up at me, eyes wide, mouth gaping," Oh, Honey!!" And the tears started to fall. "No one said anything to you?" She asked. I just shook my head no, buried it in her shoulder.

It was winter, there was snow on the ground. I didn't want to look for her grave. I felt terrible. Terrible I didn't know. That I couldn't make it. Who went, if I didn't? I didn't know of any family she had; of the years I worked there I never witnessed anyone visit her.

By the time I graduated, I went looking for her- searching for her. Asked workers at the care center, asked officials at the hospital, no one could tell me which lot she was buried in. Even tried going row by row, grave by grave through the cemetary, having a friend help me. The grave diggers couldn't tell me much.

I'll cut this short, and tell you I never found her grave. I don't think she holds it against me. She knows I'll see her again. Maybe even one day I'll find her grave. For now, she's still a special woman forever in my memory.

Duct Tape Dress

The subject matter is about as plain as the title. This is the making of it... it was quite a week...


We were on a band trip. Isn't that how all good stories start out? Anywho, me and my crew were never ones for sleeping at night. There was me, Squats, Miss Pepper, and Sprank all put in one room together.

"Ladies, I need your help with something." I said as I pulled out the rolls upon rolls of duct tape I bought from the store earlier. Delicious colours consisting of Taxi Cab Yellow, Turquoise, and Safety Vest Orange.

"There is a duct tape prom dress competition, and I'm doing it."
After many minutes of strategizing how to start, we decided the skirt of the dress was better than anywhere else. We made a belt of tape around my waist, then tried to make streamers as a skeleton for the bell of the skirt. Wasn't working.

"We need something to hold the shape of the skirt as we make it." Said Pepper.
"What if we each hold a side and just wrap it?" Asked Squats.
"No, no! Ging, stand on the table, and we'll tape the bell of the skirt to the round table, and build it from there!" Said Pepper.

"Yes! Perfect!" So up I went, standing tall on the small round table in the hotel room, head touching the ceiling. The gals started wrapping, cutting, and double-siding the yellow tape, but this skirt project was taking longer than expected....

"Hey Guys? I think my legs are going numb." I said, trying to hold myself in a very upright position.

Pepper looks at Squats. "Ging, did you lock your knees?" Squats asked.

"What what?"

"Like, are your legs completely straight? Without a slight bend?"

"Yeah they're straight. It's how I'm keeping the skirt frame so tight...."

Pepper looks at Squats again, sighs. They look up at me, "We're going to get you down."

I felt my knees buckling as they detached the tape skirt skeleton from the table.

"Shit! Catch her!" Said Pepper, and I went toppling down on Squats.

Sprankle sat and watched, the youngest of us by three years, having no clue dafuq these gals were doing....

I just lay there for a second before laughing.

"That means she's okay right?" Said Pepper.

"No, she laughs when she gets hurt. Is she hurt?" Said Squats.

"Ging? Ging?" They kept looking at me, calling my name, but all I could do was giggle.

"Ravioli" I said.

"We don't have a can opener." Squats said, looking at the top of the can.

"I have a pocket knife?" Said Pepper.

They butchered the top until it was safely jagged at the top.

"I can't eat this cold." Said Squats.

"The coffee pot!" I drug it down to the floor with me, and put the can on the little hot plate of the coffee maker.
"Spoons anyone?" Squats said.
"Here, use these!" Sprank jumped in on the comotion with stirring straws.
"This is so worthless." Said Pepper giggling. Pretty soon we were all laughing like lunatics, me sprawled on the floor in tape, the other three gathered around, all of us like barbarians next to a fire. Our fire was Ravioli. Fuck yeah.

Next, we tried to start the bust. "Just wrap me up, with the sticky side of the tape facing upward, then we'll go through and wrap me with the tape facing down and make it look nice."

Next thing you know, "SUCK IT IN! SUCK IT IN!" Pepper was laughing hysterically. "Ging, your boobs are huge!" Squats said, looking at my profile. They wrapped my ribs and stomach so tight my boobs were popping out. Sprank laughed her ass off.

"We have to cut it! THERE'S NO OTHER WAY!" I said, struggling to breathe.

They got the scissors and cut it down the back. I held it up, looking at the form of the figure still held.. "Dude. It'll be like a corset."

The next weekend, hours before the prom was the next time I was working on it. Crunch time. I had another ging help me on it this time. We made the string out of duct tape, punched holes in the back of the "corset" and voila. then we attached the skirt, added accents with the Turquoise and Orange, and the man came over.

The pro slapped together a tux much more efficiently and quickly than the dress. His mum even made him a duct tape tie. We were ballin. To top it off, add two pairs of duct tape converse. Fuck. Yeah.


Needless to say, it was friggin hot as hell to wear. No ventilation. We stripped the duct tape garb and put on our dancing clothes for the rest of the evening.

That, my children. Is the story of the duct tape dress.

Black Sheep, Black Sheep, have you any wool?

Alright, I suppose every blogger does this in their miserable life, so I shall carry out this tradition. I'll try to keep it as interesting as possible. I'm going to tell you thirty random facts about me, assuming you don't know them by now... I always think of myself as an open book but it always appears someone is astonished by things later in life I always thought was obvious, or common sense. So. Close the window if you're not ready to know so much about your ginger or keep reading if you dare.


1. My favourite sandwich is still as it always was - Bacon, Banana, Peanutbutter. Grilled.

2. I do not like the military. For so many reasons. Though I always find that wherever I go, I house and take care of them.

3. I really. Really. REALLY. Don't like being touched. Unless I've known you for YEARS, ever notice me wince when you've tried to give me a hug? Rub my shoulders? Pat my back? Just don't do it. Yeah. That kinda does make me into a huge prude. Deal with it.

4. I have a kitty named Bacon Shaymus.

5. I was called Cherry Pie mercilessly in middle school. I even taddled. Got the dude in trouble. Became friends with him in High School.

6. I have a "Pants Optional" sign I painted in my living room, because I don't like to wear pants in the comfort of my own home, and don't think anyone else should either.

7. I strongly dislike electronics, credit cards, and cell phones, and won't use these "basic living essentials" unless completely necessary. Like blogging. Because I'm a funny bitch like that.

8. The more I mean mug you and cuss at you, the more I like you. Try not to get all asshurt about it.

9. I'm unapologetically attracted to scruffy looking men. You can keep the muscles, the fancy technology, and all that other shit women like...money?. I like em dingy with a nerdification in class, ya dig?

10. I love to see the look on people's faces when they find out I'm not a moron, just really happy. At the same time, it really hurts to see who always thought I was a giggly moron.

11. I like toes. rounded, painted, hairy, crooked, Asian, stubby... I don't give a flipper. I like toes.

12. I still noodle around on my bass, but really don't play as much as I used to, or as much as I should.

13. When in math classes, I pretend we are the last people on Earth to figure out the equasions given, and try to get the answer as quickly as possible so the world doesn't blow up. Doesn't take me that much time. Because I'm a nerdpro like that.

14. I gave a friend her first mo hawk with a pair of orange handled scissors... it was my first time too.

15. I've successfully stolen thousands of dollars worth of road signs years ago and sold them.

16. I think it's really stupid that the same people who tell me to be more sensitive about my language, (i.e. words such as retarded, queer, and fuckshit) are the same people that tell me not to be so sensitive about the subject of porn. Disgusting felchers.

17. If you press lightly with your nail on my ginger skin, it will instantly puff up. My back has been used as a human canvas to friends many times. The picture won't go away for hours...

18. I've had snakebites for two years now as of Thanksgiving weekend.

19. I love old people and I miss working at the care centers.

20. In high school, I successfully convinced everyone that I was afraid of the colour purple and one of my teachers even gave me a different coloured sheet of paper when purple was the colour of the homework assignment. It was a social experiment on my own to see who the tormenters were.  It went on for a good two years. You're all bastards.

21. I've never turned down a vaccum salesman. I always feel obligated to buy the vaccum. My mum stopped letting me answer the door to them when I lived with her. No really, it was pretty bad.

22. When I go to stores in malls with my best friend, we like to talk in Swedish and French and act like we're from the countries just to see if anyone ever asks where we're from. Only two people ever have and one asked us how to say "Motorcycle" in Swedish.

23. I just bought a clear vase so I can oil paint on it and put my kitchen utensils in it.

24. The colour of black/yellow/brown skin makes me all kinds of giddy when put next to mine... I very much enjoy the clash of colour... might explain my taste for the exotic man.

25. I really want a piano in my apartment. I miss playing.

26. I just learned how to make my Mema's famous chicken and oyster gumbo for Thanksgiving and now will carry out this holiday meal tradition for my years to come.

27. I really do enjoy running. I tell people that it's stupid because I hate running in front of people because my boobs are huge. I couldn't even type that out without laughing...

28. I think I want to be a coroner when I go back to college. Maybe a marine biologist. Maybe I'll just bartend for  few years. Either way, I know I won't have a set profession that will last the rest of my days but you can bet your ass, one day I'll be famous for something.

29. I don't think I've spoken more than ten words to my little brother since I graduated high school. The last time I saw him was the day before I left for Mississippi and I realized all I ever wanted from him was a hug. Stupid dick.

30. The curtains match the drapes. Deal with it.

Laugh At My Suffering. It's Funny.

I was walking down beach boulevard, needless to say, the highway next to the beach.  It's about one in the afternoon, maybe two. That's very vital information. Broad daylight. Seriously.

Everyone and their mother knows that all I do all day- all day long- all spare time- for enjoyment- is walk.  I walk everywhere; to the bank, to the grocery, to a friend's house (if I had any here in Mississippi, I might still do that to) and even when I didn't have a car, I walked abot forty-five minutes to and from work.  I don't mind it, and when I was living in small towns up north in Montana and Wyoming, I had no problem walking out at night until about three or four AM just because I had nothing else better to do whilst insomnia insued.

Since I've been back in a bigger city however, everyone fears the worst and is so damn certain that if I walk at night, I will get mugged, raped, or the latter. So, to calm their minds, I started taking walks after I got home from work or sometime after lunch. Damn pessimists.

For those of you not aware, I work graveyard shift as a housekeeper at a hotel resort here in the city.

Back to the story, yesterday I am walking home from my couple hours' walk, and every person I pass up, I come up with different scenarios as to what would happen if all the pessimists were correct. What would happen if the two gentlemen on the bench staring at me as I come closer are actually theives that want my ipod and headphones?  What if that old man sitting in the sand is actually some nasty old pervert wanting to jizz on my leg as I walk by? What if that woman in a stroller really doesn't have a baby in there, but an AK-47 she's just dying to try on a ginger talking by that dresses funny?

You get the picture. Rediculously rediculous thoughts. But you never know..

So as I'm nearing the lighthouse where I am to cross the street to head back to my humble abode, I see a black Pathfinder parked on the side of the sidewalk. As I walk closer, I notice the passenger window is open, and in the driver's side is a Mexican man in his mid thirties or so, and he takes a glance at me and I give a little smile back and am on my way.

I blow up this story in my head wondering if he's the kind of guy that would jump out of his car, bash me over the head with a beer bottle, and stash me in the jeep before anyone cared to call the police. 

No sooner did I think this thought that I saw a shadow out of my peripheral, and I immediately squatted down and protected my head letting out a small "WOAH BUDDY"...

I looked up to see a woman driving past on her bike. Followed by two children on their bikes. Followed by the assumed father. By the time I stood up looking at the children, I was already laughing my ass off at the tardass I just made myself look like, and the father was laughing as well, apologizing that his wife scared the piss out of me.

I kept laughing hysterically, because those that know me, know once I get started, I don't ever stop.... ever.

I told him it was alright and bid them a good day.  Twenty feet ahead of me, I sat on a bench to recoil my nerves.  A few minutes of out right laughter to myself and I got up once again to head home.

Right then, the Pathfinder pulled up, and the Mexican man spoke to me through the passenger window in his best English, " Need a ride to a place?" He smiled at me.

Now I really felt like a shmuch.

"No rita necessita, gracias." I said in my best Spanish.

"De nada," He replied, then drove off waving with a smile. 

I giggled to myself like a madman the whole way home. 

For the love of Baby Rays, don't tell an already delusional paranoid person that the world is out to get her. Just let me keep believeing the world is a safe place ;)

Going Away Party

This children, is a drunken story. It shall not be looked highly upon and all names are fake.. the story is real. This is what we call a bafoon children. Read on.

Nine in the morning. Three men say to a lady, "Lady! You gotta catch up with us! Time to start drinking!" Lady looks to the little Miss who is also present.
Miss shruggs.
"Lady! We're hungry! MAKE US FOOOOOOD!!"
Lady looks to Miss, "Like to come with me to get groceries?"

To the store they go and come back with ingredients to make spaghetti. Whilst the ladies were out, the men distracted their hunger by means of video games. Miss stayed in the living room with the men whilst Lady tended to the food.

Better catch up.... she thought to herself.

She lined up three shot glasses on the counter, reached into the fridge and poured Jager into all three. She emptied them, lined them up again, and repeated.

The Chocolate man looked up to see her downing the last one, "Hey! You're supposed to be doing those with us!"
"I'm catching up" she replied. "Six down, how many more to catch up?

"You did not just do six!" Said the Chocolate man.
"Oh yes she did" Said Mexican.
"We watched her," Said Miss.

Chocolate man poured another round. "This time, we take them together."

Chocolate man and Lady each shot one, and before Chocolate man could oppose, she did the third.

"BACK TO THE COOKIN!" She said excitedly.

This. Is going to be interesting.

Somewhere in the midst of cooking, she slinked into a mini skirt and her highest leopard print heels. "I wanna be pretty!!" She squealed with delight.

Now cooking in her heels, the men watched carefully, as not to have her break something. This was quite the show.

Once the Vodka Spaghetti was cooked, she dished it out to all her friends then a bowl for herself. "I want to eat outside!" She said.
"No! Said Roommate. "You know what happens when you go outside like this."
"I'll be good! I'll be good!" She screamed.
"We are going to regret this" Said Roommate.
He allowed her outside but only under his supervision. Instantly, "I wanna go for a walk!!"

"NO!" Roommate insisted. He put his bowl down on the porch,scooped her up, and had Chocolate man put her in the bedroom and locked the door.
Next thing you know, the Chocolate man is yelling, "GET OUTSIDE GET OUTSIDE!! SHE WENT OUT THE WINDOW!"

Lady escaped the room through her window, crawling in her mini skirt and still.... wearing the 4 1/2 inch stilettos.

By the time the men got out, she was running down the stairs and across the parking lot, laughing wildly as she went.

Oh wait you missed that- she RAN DOWN THE STAIRS IN HOOKER HEELS WHILST SCHNOCKERED. And we continue-

"But I wanna go on a walk! I'll be good! I'LL BE GOOD!" She plead
"Bitch you're screaming already." Said Roommate.
"I'll take her" Said the Chocolate man.
She squealed again, with delight.

she walked about 15 minutes away until they got to the beach. Then she took off running... same shoes.... through the sand and into the water.
She did not know the Chocolate man was afraid of jellyfish. She did not know she went too far out, almost past the pier.

"Get your ass back here right now Lady!"
She giggled, and tried to swim away in the barely 6 inches of water. Lots of sand was building up. Finally she stood up and began running away again, the Chocolate man trying to run out of the water in his jeans.

He was nice enough to let her wear his shoes home as he carried her's. His feet burning on the sidewalk. As soon as she arrived in the parking lot, she began running up the stairs and instantly into the shower. "Too much sand!" She was yelling and giggling and carrying on.


At about six in the evening, the Lady woke, chipper and uppity as ever. "Who put my clothes on me?" She asked as she walked into the living room.

They all just looked at her and the little Miss chuckled a little.
"Never again,"Roommate said, "never again."


So children, the moral of this story? Don't peer pressure someone who will make you regret it ;)

Success

Okay, so I've made reference to "tastes like honey on stale bread" or "tastes like success" and instead of trying to explain this damn reference a million times over, I will gladly let you all in on an inside joke of how the saying came into play.

So about... last summer, Squatsy and I went to Lake Fresno up in Montana on a particularly hot day. We were there quite a while- long enough to swim out to the island in the lake and swim back, frolic on the boat docks, and get mostly dried on the shore... shore? no, the edge. Stupid Montana lakes don't have shores.

Montana also doesn't have bodies of water NEAR anything... they're all out in the middle of no where.

Anywhozers, we were damn hungry and so terribly thirsty! On any other given day, it was a hands down that I would have some kinda food in the car- most of the times it was peanut butter and jelly with bread and doritos or some awesome shit like that.

This trip was more spur of the moment and we just kinda left, not even thinking about food stuffs.  Just for shits and giggles, I started rooting around in my car anyway. I found some bread in the back seat under the mountain of things in my car from whence I lived from that summer. Stale bread. . .. pretty sure from the weeks before when I had gone out and brought snacks.

I rooted around some more, and in my middle console found some honey packets.  Usually after working, I would wait to empty my pockets in my car and I would have honey, straws... whatever else a waitress has in her apron after work.

Squats and I each took a couple of slices of that stale bread, ripped open our honey packets, and poured on the car-hot substance. We locked eyes, eyed the bread, closed our eyes and prayed to god we weren't gonna get sick.

"What does it taste like?" She asked me.
After a few brief moments and a bite more, I looked at her smiling, "Tastes like success."
She started to chuckle, "Wait wait wait. So you're tellin me, honey on stale bread tastes like success?"
"Yes. Yes I believe so."
"I've always wondered what that tasted like....."


So there you have it. That is what I am referencing from and now you too can have an awesome saying that no one understands.

Family Time

Soooooo after begging and pleading, I finally decided to go stay with my cousin Juju and Mema in Mobile, Alabama whilst Hurricane Isaac was in motion. I don't have work for the time being, and I suppose being alone in my apartment would have gotten dull... I would have ran out of puzzle.


So staying at my cousin's has been a blast. I get to hang out with little people, Juju's five year old crazy gal, and 18 month old little guy.  Keeping him entertained is quite simple- an empty toilet tissue roll will do. As for the five year old, I think she talks more than I did when I was her age ( if y'all can imagine!) and she's all full of conversation. 

Being five and all, she's yet to get exposure to a crazier side of humanity- the side with tattoos, piercings, and wicked hair styles.  She's very curious about mine. Observe our conversations we've had these past couple days..

"Why do you have holes in your liiiiyups?" (She has an adorable accent and it must be noted!)
I chuckle a little bit, "I'll tell you when you're older. I have no idea how to explain it to someone under the age of fifteen."
"Oh. Well I have a friend and her sister has a hole in her nose. She wants one too because that's what you do when you're older."
"You get holes in your nose when you're older, huh?"
"That's what she is gonna do! Like her sister! Are you gonna get holes in your nose?"
"Nooo, not me. Where do you think the boogers are gonna come out if I have a hole in my nose?"
"GROSS!"

"You have holes in your ears too!"
"Yes I do. It's where I put my jewelry."
"Like your diamonds in your liiiiiyups!"
"Haha sure."
"I like them. I think they're beauuuutiful! I think they're pretty because they're blue. And I like blue. But not really. I like pink actually."
"Thank you?"
"Come play with my bunnies!"

*We're sittin on the couch and I notice her lookin at me so I look and smile back*
"You have orange hair."
"Yes I do. Rare for someone to have orange hair."
"Do people make fun of you at school?"
Well actually.....
I just chuckle.
"Do people make fun of you for your glasses?"
"No. People actually like my glasses. Do YOU make fun of me for my glasses?"
"No! I think they're preeeeeyuuttty. I have glasses too!"
"Oh you do eh?"
"Yeah. Minnie Mouse ones."



These are the fun times I have whilst during a hurricane. Family for the win.

Malachai and Copernicus

Today children is the annual celebration of the birth of a man that is very dear to me. He's been there through thick and thin, good times, bad times, and screaming like a banshee and many many soda spills. I would like to recall some of our memories together today. He is 22, and he is my Queer.


I've never met anyone like Queer. We met in Public Speaking class in college. Everyone thought he had a huge crush on me. This made me want to be as far away from him as possible, naturally. But when I went back to Montana for the summer and came back to little Bumfuck Wyoming, our bond was made very strong and he invested his secret in me... he doesn't crush on gingers. BWAHHA no really, let's get on with it.


I don't think I've ever had another friend who I've screamed so much at. We have fought all up and down the United States. Literally. Drove over 3,000 miles together up and down the coast and fought most of the way.  We've had screaming matches, crying fits, and farting wars on each other's pillows... girls don't fart.

We've gone to abandoned houses, climbed mountains, even gotten stuck in snow in his little Toyota eight times in one week.  We've seen a moose that we thought was an alien, possibly real aliens, and followed a creeper in a red car just like his just to see where it was going at the SAME TIME EVERY FRIGGIN MORNING AT 1:30 AM!! Another story, another day...

We've almost been in a million crashes together, no thanks to our dying laughter and spittle of Dr. Pepper on the windshield.  We've driven to Salt Lake to see awesome bands just to drive back for work in the same 24 hours. 

Together, we've cheated the system time and time again, and I'll not tell you how.  We've been pierced together, broke together, and broken hearted together.

We both came to meet in Wyoming running from something and found ourselves running into each other.  We embrace our miseries and our utmost joys together.  There is no one in the world I would rather share all of our memories with. 

We live 2,000 miles away, and he is still the best man in my life and has always been there for me, even when we were angry at each other. 


Darlin, if you're reading this, many adventures to come to us, my love.  I'll walk a thousand miles for you, as long as you'll walk four... because, let's face it. You hate walking.
I love you so much. But I have to stop typing before I cry.

I Bleep Out the Good Parts

So I get home from work one day and a delicious note is posted on my fridge from my roommate and her husband:

"Hey I just met you
And this is crazy
We're printing off concert tickets
So join us maybe?"

Fuck. Yes.

Work in the morning? Irrelevant. 
It was a two day concert and they had already bought tickets to go only to find out the day of the concert that military get in for free, so the tickets were just kinda extra. One for me, and one for some other random ass dude who's month they totally made.

Anywho, I saw awesome bands like Foxy Shazam, whose front man ate about six lit cigarettes at once, Gun Point, P.O.D. who I had been listening to since middle school, and to wrap up that first night, Hollywood Undead.  It turned out to be an all around marvelous show.

I got to the front of the crowd save for maybe about five people and the music was loud and I made a strange family to rock out with.  Anyone else ever have that happen? You're in a crowd so packed of about two to three thousand people and all of a sudden the closest ones touching your elbows and backs are your closest friends.

The next night was even more delicious. Not music-wise, I'll admit. Foxy totally made my life the first night. The second night was New Medicine, Covo, Halestorm, Chivelle, and Evanescence to wrap up the whole schebang.

But either way, we started out the night by figuring out how to pile six people into a four-seater jeep. I'll have you know it can be done. On the way there, the three air force buddies of Rich's (Georgia's husband) sat ass to ass in the back. We'll call them White Boy, Satanist, and Chocolate. I rode shotty with Georgia on my lap. Luckily and surprisingly, we didn't get pulled over.  Got to the concert, saw some faces, then made our move for the front. Slowly but surely we were to make it by the time Evanescence played. 

Rich snuck in some gummy bears and sour parch kids. At a concert like that, it's unavoidable for everyone to be asking, "What are they laced with?!" To which the response was always "nothing," but not like anyone ever believed us anyway.  Rich also filled up his camel pack with water, and when you're so far into that crowd, people were paying dollars for sips of his water.  SMART.

Again, we found our own little family, a different one from the previous night, but oh so entertaining.  One was a gal who's name slips me. She told us, "If you wanna get to the front, just call out some random name like you know them. Like this," and all of a sudden at the top of her lungs, "BIIILLL!!! HEY BILLL!! I'M COMING BUDDY!!" I never thought I laughed so much in my life.
"Wait no no, that name isn't common enough. Lemme try again, " She said, " BOB!! FUCKING BOB! HERE I AM!!" and everyone was looking around to see who the hell she was talking to. It was hilarious.

Our little amoeba of a group went from standing somewhat next to each other to being single file ass-to-crotch in the crowd. The best way to travel was a conga line. I told White Boy in front of me, "Sorry if I get a boner. There's kinda no avoiding you feeling it." He laughed and started telling me about how awesome Halestorm was. I'd never heard of them before that night, and I tell you what, their drummer made me realize why I loved dating drummers in the first place.

All that passion. All that hair. Mmm. 

So I bought a cd after the show, autographed and everything. 

It was kinda nice, being around all that testosterone again. Made me miss Wyoming... a little. But just a little. If you ever repeat that, I'll cut your pecker off.

anywho, then Chocolate hands me his wedding ring and his Aviators and starts in on a mosh pit.  There was no mercy on my shoes or pants. Then the other two guys tried to jump on the side of me where the mosh was happening. Protect the women? Whatever the reason, it was a delightful courtesty and I wish men were really like that in the real world anymore.

That's right, this is my damn blog and I will haterade all I want to.

So more moshing, women getting on men's shoulders, other men (and myself) screaming at them "TITS OR GTFO" mwahhaha.....

Eventually we all got to the front gate. I will not disperse as to how we managed, but we did. We found a truck load of little eleven year olds up there. Rich, Georgia, and I formed a wall around them to protect them from the mosh behind us.  Who in their right mind brings eleven year olds to that kind of concert? Either way. We formed a wall. Because we're cool like that.

When Amy Lee came on the stage, the crowd went wild needless to say.  We were so close, we saw the glitter on her body.  It was awesome.  After I heard a few songs of that set, I decided to bail on my post.  See, when you're a housekeeper and are on your feet for about eight or nine hours a day then go to a concert that you are on your feet from six to midnight you tend to not give a rats to bail on the crowd early. I went and sat on the concrete just passed the giant ass crowd.  The sound quality was actually better there.

Not too long after, Georgia and Rich appear. We found a bench and parked our asses until it was all over. 

FAST FORWARD

The other three finally meet us back at the jeep.  Us gals decide that sittin on the other's lap is NOT going to work. We were dirty, smelly, and our shoes were possibly HIV + at that point. So, where do you put a sixth person if not doubled up in the front? Across the men in the back, of course! Since it's a real beach jeep, the top nor sides were on so it was easy for me to maneuver.  "Just don't let me fall out the sides okay?" Easy enough for them, strong men as they are.  That first U-turn was a crazy bitch! If you ever have the opportunity to be reckless in this aspect, do it. Scary. So White Boy, gentleman as he is, somehow ninjas some shit with my legs and tucks them in the vehicle. So now I'm comfortably splayed with my head rested and my legs out of harms way.

Then there was the area at the stoplights where a crapton of police were manning the traffic control.

Shitballs.

So now, I'm doing the most awkward backbend in the world where my head is now down by their feet. This doesn't really work all too well when you are a well endowed woman. Just saying. So the guys were all leaning on me, nooooooo, no there's no body in our fucking laps. nothing going on here.

After about three excruciating minutes of uncomfort and praying to God the po po didn't see us, they signaled for our lane to get moving and off we were.  A decent twenty minute drive home. No one died, I didn't get decapitated, and all was well until we hit the railroad tracks. I got a good couple inches of air.
"Save the vagina! it's the most important part!" Said one of the guys.

By the time we got home, we were all exhausted. An awesome concert with awesome people and an awesome cd for the memories. 

I am Thibodeaux, and I approve this message.

Workin Workin Rappin'

Alright, so most of y'all know I started workin as a housekeeper again. I love what I do but mostly I love the job for days like today. We were on the last room of the day, so me, another trainee (under the alias of Priscilla) and our supervisor (under the alias of Dee) were all workin together to get it done. Just so happened the room was a mess- the start of a beautiful story.


"There were kids in here!" I told Priscilla, lookin at the small sock left behind after the visitors left.
"Mmmhmm, look at all them crumbs!"

We grab our gear and start cleaning- there were Oreos all over the damn place and a bunch of chewed up papers.. yes. Chewed. Up. Papers.

"You know, if I had kids and brought 'em to a hotel, I would beat em." I said.
"You would what?!" Prisc asked.
"Beat 'em! Ain't no child of mine gonna crumble no cookies all over the place and live to talk about it!"
"Baby girl, you ain't got no kids! Talkin bout beatin other people's kids; you hearin all this?" She asked Dee.

"Hearin what?" Dee came into the room and Priscilla started laughing.
"She gonna beat the kids! Ain't no cookies to have for these churrdrin!"
"I heard that. I'd whoop they asses. No I wouldn't even bring 'em." Dee shook her head.
"Tiffany gone beat the damn kids. Ain't even got no kids. Shoot!" Prisc started laughin and cleanin again.

After everything that was said for the next five minutes, Priscilla ended it with, "And Tiffany gone beat the kids." It got funnier and funnier each time.

After loosening up from a long day of work, we were scrubbing and making beds and vacuuming and Priscilla started layin' down the beat as we bobbed our heads to it:

"Tiffany gonna beat the kids WHAT!
Cuz' they got all over cookie crumbs YUP!"

And that's how the rap about disciplining the children started. I love my life. Errday.

Jazzy Wrecks.

I've done nothing but beach time since I've been here in Mississippi since May. I strolled the news paper (a delightful old-fashioned source of information) and came across a jazz festival in Mobile, Alabama that happened last night.

I called the only gal I knew in Sippi, (We'll call her Georgia) and the stars must have alligned that day.

She was available to go to a jazz festival with me and I actually had the means to go.

We get to Mobile and found the sketchy run-down looking victorian-style house that the festival was happening in.  We were thrown off a bit when we got inside. We decided to wear pants and a cute tee, as not to look over dressed- turns out we were underdressed. It was a ritsy bunch, women in their Southern best, floppy hats, and gaudy jewelry, while most men either wearing a button up with black slacks or a pressed polo. Oh yeah, just a wee bit underdressed.

But jazz is jazz. And when we got in, found out that Jumbalaya, baked mac n' cheese, eggplant casserole, and tons of other deliciousness were to be served for the occasion.

We piled our little bowels and plates, finishing off with strawberry shortcake and enjoyed our stay.  The band consisted of a piano player, tuba player, and a surprano sax player, all very talented in the arts of jazz and rag time. 

Everythign felt right. Finally, a time to just chill out and enjoy the company of a friend. Then of course, the occasional flirting of a gentleman sitting a a table next to us. That's another story.

So the festival ended and we were wanting to explore more of the town.  The pretty buiildings and their lights were too much to leave too soon.  Then I saw an underground tunnel- one I recognized from the year prior that lead to where a cousin lives.

We drove into the tunnel, enjoying the bright yellow lights, then turned around and went back.

"What is this song and who does it? I've heard it but a few times before but I really like it!"Georgia asked.

I turn up the volume a bit in the car,"Home, by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros."

We get to the end of the tunnel, and I decided we should go right, back into the city part of town.  I slowed down quite a bit from the 45 speed limit, only going about 15 now to turn at the green light. Had I known there was a lane paralleling the tunnel, I might have looked a second time to see that I was in the clear.

A loud boom sound and next thing I knew, I was on the curb on the street that I was turning to and there was a maroon car that I'd hit that was on the street further up from me.

"You okay?" Georgia asked, "Yeah, you?" "Yeah."
She immediately got out of the car to go check the other vehicle. I followed suit, grabbing my phone and dialing 911. We walked up to see a dark skinned gentleman.
I think both of us blushed a little... who wouldn't? The guy was gorgeous!
He said he bumped his head, I told dispatchers where we were located, and in less than ten minutes two police vehicles arrived.

"I am so sorry, " I began apologizing.
"I slowed when I saw you coming. It's okay it's okay," and he smiled a little. Mmm.
Georgia also apologized, hoping he was okay. "I'll be fine, it's just too bad we had to meet in such circumstances," he replied to her.
"You're car looks okay except for some scratches," Georgia said.
"Yeah, and my car is a little bitch who can't take a punch." I said, making him smile a little again.

Pretty soon a fire truck showed up with some medics to check him out. Then a tow truck to take my car away.  What was once an empty street was beginning to fill with random pedestrians who were 'just walking by' and when they saw there was nothing to marvel at, walked away once more.

Oh, you're curious as to the damages?

Well, indeed, his car was just scratches. No headlight damage, no real dents from what we saw.
My car? Like a finger flicking plastic. The metal above the passenger wheel is dented in and smashed on the tire. No lights busted, the car still runs, no flat tire, no airbags deployed...

My car had to get towed because of something simple a crowbar can shimmy out. I understand, proceedure, proceedure...

At least the cops were nice. "Are you from Montana?" The policeman asked. I had a Jeff Foxworthy's There's your Sign moment when he asked that. I really wanted to say, "Nope. Just have a Montana driver's license and plates for shits and giggles." I didn't.

I just cocked my head at him and started laughing. His other cop buddy exchanged glances at him like I was high.

Before you know it, Georgia and I were telling them our life stories of how we're from the south, moved to the north - each of us- and it's all coincidence how we seperately ended up in Mississippi and got to the jazz concert tonight.

Then the cops started joking with us, "There's nothing to do in the north is there?"
"Nothing." I said.
"Well, depending on what you like!" Georgia said, defending her notherners.
"Hiking. And snow." I said.
"Haha, must not have road signs up in Montana." A cop joked.

Little does he know ladies and gents... littles does he know...

The po po ended up taking us to a Mickey D's until we could find out who was to rescue us at 10:30 in the evening. Oh yeah, best part? We rode in the back. Bars and all. I got to film it, and when I have means of getting it on youtube, it will be up.

About 30 minutes later, cousin Juju comes to save the day. She takes us back to my Mema's and I drive Georgia home to the next town over in Mema's car.

On my way back, I fell asleep behind the wheel and side swiped my car for 20 feet against the side of a bridge.

That last sentence is false. But I hope all of your hearts skipped a beat because that would be funny.

My car is in Alabama, we are all safe, and that's what happens when you go to a Jazz festival.

Resilient

"Resilient."
Yes that's the word.
The word used to describe her.
She takes a punch, might stumble, but mama ain't raise no bitch.

She'll get up and God forbid you'd have to look her in the eye.
Satan himself crumbles.
Hath no hell like a woman's look of scorn.

You watch her, amazed by her, afraid to approach her.
They all are, not just you.
See, she isn't human. 'Least that's what they all say.

You've seen her screamed at, beat, tortured, almost in a surrender to defeat-
Or at least most people's point of defeat.
So why does she get up?

What makes her so strong?
You sense it, you feel a power, you can't grasp it, but you know it's there.
She must have a great life; everything put together.

But you don't know her that well, clearly.
You don't know her own damages, her own self destruction.
You don't know what goes on when no one else can see her.

She'd kill and not bat an eye... but she knows the Great One would frown at her.
She'd tell em all to fuck off if it meant a clear mind... but she knows better kindness.
Within her, it is dark. Darker than you. Darker than me.

You think her of someone who can 'do no wrong' as if there are such people.
You think her as someone level headed, she knows she is.
You think her to always be there, always with no darkness to bear.

She hides it all away, thinking to use her ammo for another day.
She has this thing inside of her, suppressed with a goodness she wishes were not there.
She has secrets you couldn't hear with your own ears and she spares telling you, fear of your own suicide.

"God won't give you anything you can't handle," She reminds herself.
"I know that no matter what, you'll always be okay," She repeats words spoken to her years ago.
"You're resilient." She hates this word for it wants her to be weak; weak like you.

A Day At The Beach

So, as most of you know, I go to the beach every day. Every day it's not terrible weather, that is.  I lather up my SPF 1,000,000,000 and lay in the sun. Why you ask? Freckles. Yes, turns out I'm a frecklephile. Don't even know if it exists. All I know is that I feel pretty damn epic with my freckle stache and even more epic when I spot new freckle colonies.

I have nothing to do with my life, fuck you.

So anywho, I lay out there, catching the rays without the cancer and it's actually pretty peaceful. Until you get some of those Southern mommas out there, "TYRELL! GET YO ASS OUT THAT WATAH! THERE'S ECOLI!"
Don't bring him to the beach if you don't want your daily dose of bacteria.

Anywho, that is not what this story is about.

I was laying down under the 90-some degree sun and a mother and her two girls come up and start setting up their own little pow wow near me, about 15 feet away. The girls were about . .. 5? 11? Hell if I know, I can't tell the difference until they're going through puberty. They were two-footers, I'll put it like that.

About fifteen minutes or so later, when all the gals were well adjusted to their surroundings and got settled, the little two-footers went to the water and came back with a bucket full of it to pour over their momma's feet. The littlest of the two looked over to me ( I assume it was me, I was the only one laying there in the vicinity) and asked her momma," Is she sleeping? Why is she sleeping when she can play?"

Her mom, shushing her, perhaps as to not have me hear, " She's not sleepin baby, she's tanning."

I kinda got a giggle out of that. I mean, the woman couldn't have known I was there to freckle, but to tan? I mean, I'm a pasty creature.

"What is tanning momma? What is tanning?"
She was persistant despite her mom's constant shush-ing.

I sat up on my elbows and smiled at the little girl, " It means that I'm as lily white as they come and I was not blessed with such beautiful dark skin as you. The sun makes skin darker."
The little girl cocked her head and her momma said, "That was a compliment, baby. Tell her thank you."

"But momma, daddy said white people don't like us! he lied huh?"
The girls mom looked at her like she was a ghost then quickly looked at me apologetically. I just laughed and told her not to worry.
"TELL HER THANK YOU AND GIT YO ASS BACK IN THE WATER!"
The little girl thanked me then ran off.

The woman smiled at me once more before sitting under her umbrella again.
I couldn't help myself but laughing but also thinking to myself that I saved a little girl from pre-determined racism.

Drunk. Plain and Simple.

Alright fine. You all asked for it... I actually do have one drunk story. One that, after much questioning and much time that has passed, I have agreed to share. Not usually my style, but this story is so outrageous, I believe it belongs in my blog. So here it goes.


Ever gotten so drunk you wake up with your head pounding, holes in the walls, your weave in the mailbox, and an angry call from someone's grandma telling you she aired out the tires in her relative's car so you wouldn't steal it?

Oh you have... Then your name is probably... censored, as all of the names are in my blogs. So I'll call her Mama.


It was a normal weekday... a Thusday I believe, recalling the walk I had in the morning to get to French class. I had a new friend, Mama, and she was kinda like me in all ways that were obvious- loud, obnoxious, and friendly. Of course we hit it off!

I remember when we were welcoming her from across the states in our little home upstairs in Diggy's apartment. She was so excited to meet everyone, but when she saw me for the first time, we both started screaming, jumping up and down, and RAMBLED like we'd been friends for years.
Oh yes, love at first site.

So on this Thursday, Mama says to me, "I just wanna get drunk!" Very excitedly.
"I'm not angry, depressed, I've never drank a whole lot before, why not?!"
"Bottle of vodka in my trunk." I smiled at her.
"Ooooh! We gotta get prepared for this, Tibby!!"

So we did. You'd swear we had the pre-drunk munchies.  We went to the nearest grocery and bought biscuits, chips, cheetos, cookies, and lots of orange juice. You know, delicious mixing purposes. We get back to the apartment, the guys are doing as they always did, always have done, and probably as they will always do- play some COD.

We make the biscuits and Mama is so excited, "Should I be scared?" She smiled.
"Nah, I'll take good care of you. We're just gonna mow down and drink, no big."
Foreshadowing..
We didn't even wait for the biscuits to cool before we shoved them in plastic baggies, mouths, and some in our chip bags. Of our bottles of orange juice, we drink about halfway, naturally, and pour the deliciousness into the bottle. Took a couple shots from the bottle (okay fine a few) then we walk to the park and here is where the magic starts..

I have been blessed with a cast iron tolerance, so yeah, for me this is "nothing to worry about". For my chocolate sister... girl had another thing comin. We sit down at the halfpipe of the park, our snacks around us like some kind of offering to the gods and begin talking.
Time lapse~
I notice her motions are getting a little shifty, "Hey, mama, we should start walkin back."
"Yeah but it's so nice outside!"
At this moment, she gets up and almost biffs just standing there.
Oh boy.
"I gotta peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Tibbyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!"
"The bathrooms are right over there," pointing in the directions of them.
We wander over to the bathrooms and dispose of our garbage. I was rather impressed we downed a whole can of biscuits, two bags of salty goodness, and enough liquid to counteract it.
"The doors are locked! Whatever, I don't even care," Mama said, as she walked to the front of the restrooms.
"Mama you're not... yes. Yes you are. Okay."
She doesn't even hesitate to pop a squat and start laughing her ass off, "Look! oh my gosh do you see me? BAHAHAHA dude I'm peeing on the bathrooms!"
"Yeah I see you." And I can't help but crack a giggle myself.
"It's so hot out here Tibbyyyyy."
"No it's not, you just MAMA NO!! PUT THAT BACK ON!"

She's already stripping her shirt but I notice she has a tank underneath.

"Still too hot," She says. But I coax her out of the second layer.
"Mama, we need to get you back to the apartment. It will be nice and cool there."

Those that are reading you know, you KNOW you can not argue with a drunk. If they say it's hot, then it IS and you say anything to appeal to them. If they say they don't care, then you damn well agree and say they don't care and coax them to sit down in a damn chair with a straight jacket. I, however, did not have one of those and I was freezing balls.

"I want more vodka!" She said.
"Well, there's more back at the apartment. We gotta walk that way to get there though."
It's more than a few blocks away and what seemed as a short walk before was now crossing into the New World.
"Tibbbyyyyyy, where are weeeeee?"
"Mama, we've only walked a block." I look back, gestering at the park.
"Oh, bwahahahahhahaaaaaa."
She tries to call her brother and I tell her he's probably sleeping.
"BUT HE LOVES ME!"
So she calls him, and I explain she's schwasty. He was a good sport and laughed it off.
Fastforward

We get to the apartment, but she didn't want to go in, knowing where the drink is, still in my trunk.
"You said so! You said so!" She yelled.
Okay, prepare to be mindfucked.
"Mama, it's upstairs, remember? We took it up when we took the biscuits up."
"O YEAH!! TO THE KITCHEN!" She said, but not before falling on the cement. Nothing bad, just kinda sat on the driveway.
"I have too much hair, you know that? It gets so hot and sticky!"
She tussles her own hair, but it messes up an extension. What better to do than to pull it out right? Wrong. She unravelled some kind of maze of weave.

"Uh oh..." She said.
"Let me help." Kinda laughing at the predicament. Okay so fine, I had a drunk moment myself and didn't know where to put her hair to keep it safe. "I'm gonna put these in the mailbox so we remember okay?" Boy was I wrong.
I get her up the stairs to the apartment.
Things are fine until she sees Diggy... they kinda had a thing once, but were friends at the time.

Drunk Mama didn't think so.

"Wake up! Wake up! It's me!" She said to him, petting his hair.

You know, we're gonna skip this whole part. It went on for hours. Me pulling her away, trying to calm her, she woke up the whole house, she tried climbing DOWN the stairs, I tried to hold on, then let go because she was being so agressive, she fell down a flight the first time and made a hole in the wall at the bottom of the stairs with her head.

I'm not gonna lie. I laughed my ass off. She did too, she had superman strength in her drunkness. She crawled back up the stairs then wanted to go down AGAIN! I didn't try to stop her this time. I just watched. And again, down the stairs.

Diggy at this point asks, "Is she falling down the stairs?"
"Yeah man."
He started giggling, "That's so awesome." Then went into his bedroom to get some sleep.
More hours of this and I've already sobered up. Unknowing of what to do with a crazy chocolate on my hands, I put her in the car and bring her to her dorm room.

Little did I know, not the smartest thing.

Her cousin was in the room and woke up to Mama screaming.
"What is wrong with her?" She asked.
"She's a crazy drunk. Good to know for future reference."
We get her into some clean clothes and lay her down. She goes through the motions, puking, crying, puking, sleeping, shivering, and I thought it was all in the clear.
"Keep the glass of water next to her for when she wakes. She's gonna want to keep hydrated."
And I walked back to Diggy's because we always walked together in the morning for French. I got a few hours of sleep and we started to walk.

"Sorry she woke you up man."
"It happens."
And we start bullshitting on our way to class when I get a phone call.
"Is this who they call Thibodeaux?"
The lady on the other end is making this sound like some sketchy drug deal.
"Yes ma'am."
She sounded surprised, either from the fact that I'm a gal, or because I was so polite.
"This is (Mama's) grandmother. I want you to know her cousin called me and she is now in my care. I have no idea what you two got into last night but I am very disappointed. I have a right mind just to call the police."
"Yes ma'am."
"And I have located her car and aired out the tires, so don't think about taking it anywhere."
"Yes ma'am. She has the keys in her room."
"I have no idea what you thought you were doing. I should press charges but I need time to think."
"Yes ma'am."
"Well good bye."
And she hung up the phone. "Who was that?" Diggy asked.
"Her grandma" I said, he knew who I was talking about.
"Yeah? She got (Mama)?"
"Yeah, said she might press charges. For supplying a minor."
"Oh... wait but you're not even..." He looks at me questioningly.
"No. I got it in Canada."
We both start laughing. "Dude, don't sweat it."

So I didn't. But that day when Mama came up to me crying, asking what happened, I had to explain the whole night. By the end of the tale, she was done crying and started laughing. "Psssh that's not so bad! My grandma made it sound like I did something dangerous!"

Don't drink and walk kids, or you might wake up with a hole in the wall and your weave in the mailbox.


Which by the way, we didn't even remember until a couple weeks later when we saw something furry poking out of the side of the mailbox. We laughed so hard when we pulled it out.

Humphrey

It was a normal day just like any other day. Kinda.


I was on the phone with my Queer, talking about the asinine people of life, jobs, and dreaming of travels that would always have to wait for a later tomorrow. 

See, I've been staying with the Mema whose stories you have all come to learn and love. First hand, you must know that her house, as all houses do, make the creeking, swaying, and scratching noises on occasion. I've gotten used to all of these noises - when the vents turn on, the rediculously loud gusting sounds that come; the sounds the doors and floors make when someone is going through the house, and, when appropriate, the noises the windows make when the rain pours on them, or how they rattle when the thunder wakes me up in the middle of the night to which I respond frantically grabbing at nothing but air only to realize it was thunder, then huddle with a pillow until I pass out from frightening exhaustion....

Different story, different day...

So, lying on my bed, phoning it up with Queer, and just as I am about to hang up to go about our seperate businesses, I hear a scratching at the window behind me.  You must understand, this was not a faint scratching. This was like a-branch-just-crashed-into-your-window-now-you're-screwed scratching.
"What the? Hold on a sec," I said over the phone, then sat up in my bed and turned to look at the window, not but three seconds after sitting up did I let out a blood curtling scream.
"What? What is it?" I hear over the reciever.
"WHAT THE EFF?! GET OFF THERE! OH MY- WHAT THE!?"

I began laughing hysterically and hear Mema coming frantically (which is still pretty slow) down the hallway to my room to see what had happened.

I hear laughing over the phone again," What the hell did you do?"

"It's a damn squirrel. It is ON the window. Not peering from the side, it is ON the screen. It is a big ass damn squirrel! I gotta let you go!" More laughter over the phone, then we hang up.

Mema opens the door, "What? What?"

"Look at that damn thing!" At that time, as if the bastard heard me, grappled its way to the side of the window where only its wirey tail was to be seen.

I retold Mema what happened and how it startled me. She laughed at me and shook her head, "Well damn."

Lesson today, children? Never underestimate the terror of Humphrey the Hemaphroditic Squirrel and his crazy cousins.

WallyWorld Dress Code

It was the end of the school year, and Queer and I went in to WallyHell to look at some stuff. I wanted a delicious sun dress, to be more specific.


Just doing the usual, staring at all the pretty bathingsuits I know that my tatas could never fit into, looking at terribly designed shirts with him, and finally in the middle of the aisle we found them: Sun dresses. He has always hated the style; says they just look like moo moos for skinny people and they don't give anyone a shape.

He might have a point, but if it doesn't require unconfortable pants, buttons, or underwear, I'm all for the comfort of the beautiful moo moo- esque dresses. I was looking through them kinda half-assed like.  A blue one there, a red one here, some with patters... I could pull off whatever I wanted but none of them were just... you know... BAM! Until I found it- deep in the pile of moo moos- the sexiest Sun dress ever! It was a black and white stripped one, the stripes meeting at the bust, and slanting downward in a triangle type dealio.

Whatever, it was a damn dress.

So, I wander off with him to Manworld, all the while looking for someone to let me into the dressing rooms.
"I'm going back to that lady that was near the dresses. Maybe she has a key." I said, referring to the woman wearing the uniform blue shirt and khakis.

It didn't take much to find her- she was still relatively in the same spot, in the teen section a ways from where I found my delicious dress. I approched her, as you approach all employees of this establishment... waiting for the deer in headlights look as if they've done something wrong.

"Hi I was wondering if I could get into a changing room?" I asked.
"I don't work here."

I immediately let out a cackle then ran like a madman in the direction of my Queer. I couldn't stop laughing until he asked, "She doesn't work here does she?"
I continued laughing and hid behind him as if she would come and strike me with the hand of Zeus.

I saw a gal with a scanner in hand, folding up men's clothes. "For the love of God, please tell me you work here? "
She started laughing, "Yeah, you need into a changing room?" She asked, gesturing at my dress.

I got into a dressing room, but pretty sure I scared the customers walking around on the outside of it.
"Bitch, shut up, you're scaring people." Said Queer.
I stood outside of it to let Queer tell me what he thought. "Moo moo." Was all he said.

"What about you? Any oppositions to this dress?" I asked the REAL employee.
"Dude that looks awesome."
"I'll take it."

I was to a dull roar by the time I got to the checkout to purchase my dress.  Moral of this story? If you're going to go to WallyWorld, (and you know what store I mean) for the love of all that is merciful, do NOT wear the uniform. Seriously, who wakes up saying to themselves, Yeah, this feels like a plain blue shirt with ironed khakis kinda day, ??

We Love Older Men?

As of recent, I've moved across the United States back to my roots in my lovely state of Missippi.  I've been hitting the beach every day for about three weeks now because (until recently, yay!) I have been jobless.  Here is just one of the incidents that has come my way involving the mighty male.

As some of you are not aware, men are bold in the south in many more ways than just one.  Some are brave, some will show off, and some will just downright tell you that you have a nice rack.  In this case, are brave enough to question you of all your life details without even knowing your name...


I'd been laying on the beach for a while and the sand had become very hot in the early noon so I decided to finally go out for a swim.  There were quite a few people at the main beach, though not as many as the week to follow with the temperature getting into the high nineties.  I was still on my way out into the water and only about waist deep when I saw him from the corner of my eye.

He was.. . older looking. Forties? Scruffy hair. A bigger guy. Friendly looking enough? Oh boy.

Ladies that have had this happen, you know what sixth sense I'm talking about - you can feel them not only looking at you, but searching for a way to approach you; searching for the right way to strike up the conversation.

"Doesn't get too deep out here does it."
Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner. Great conversation starter!
"No." What the hell else can you say?
"How far can you go out before it gets deep enough to swim in?" He asked.
There you go buddy, open ended questions.
"You can keep walkin out to the end of the pier before it gets deep."

The Pascagoula Beach Pier stretches out quite a ways. Don't ask me in feet, I'm blind in one eye and that somehow means I suck hard at telling distance.

"Oh wow," Oh no, here it comes ladies. Brace yourselves.. .
"Where's your husband at?" He asks.

I just shat a brick. There it is, floating off in the Gulf.
"Ha oh, what?" Dude took me by surprise! Seriously, I understand a bold move, but when you ask directly where my muscle is, it's not exactly comforting.

"Well," He starts, still not phased of my reaction to his question," I saw you go by and I thought that you were so beautiful. I thought you must have a husband at least."

"No not a husband," I replied, composing a nice poker face,"a boyfriend."
"Oh okay. How old are you?" He asked. Tits, with the quesitons again.
"Twenty-one."
"Oh, okay I'm probably too old for you anyway." I see that.
I just stare at him for a moment as he stares at me, waiting for some sort or reply.
"Thirty-eight." He says. I just shrug and smile, playing off it's not that big of a deal.
I think I'm way to nice to ever let someone down hard. Hell, he had the guts to talk to me, why not have the courtesy to be a lady in return?

"Where are you from?" He asked, again trying desperately to keep me talking.
"From here." I replied.
"Oh, you have an accent I've never heard before."
"Oh," Shit that's right. I sound southern to the North, and northern to the South.
"I just moved back from Montana. Too cold for my liking." I said, still smiling.
"That's nice. Lots of snow huh?" Yeah buddy. "Well that is a beautiful accent. And you're a very beautiful lady." Putting the stopper on....
"I just saw you go by," he restated, "and thought you might want to go on a date. Guess I'm too old for you." Lord, stop repeating yourself. It's alright darlin, Lord help you, it's alright.

"Well thank you. I should be heading back now." Noticing I've been standing in the waist-deep water long enough.
"Okay, I'm just going to the end of the pier to see where the beach finally drops off." He said, looking at me for some kind of company. I just don't want to.
"Have a nice day!" I headed toward shore.

Now ladies, this has happened to some of you before as well.  You're going away, he's going the opposite way, and all of a sudden you can't help but feel he's coming your way. Note, he's coming your way because he needed to go the same way, but wanted to stop the awkward before it got deeper.

I'll have you know, I get out of the water, glace back, and there he is about twenty feet behind me. I meander off to my towel that's on the other side of the pier and away from the main beach.  I noticed him leave and felt a slight relief. Mean? No. Sometimes it's just nice to kick back in your own awkward silence instead of trying to fill someone else's.

What did we learn today? Let 'em down easy. More importantly, just say you have a husband in the first place.

From Montana To Mississippi

Holy cow, been a while since I've been able to post. I have very limited computer access, so bear with me.  I will now tell details of my trip, with youtube videos to come so be watching for those!


Day 1(Sunday)- Who leaves on a Sunday you ask? Well, when you're Queer has only one day off a week from the job he has, you take that day to say your goodbyes. So yeah, I left on a Sunday.  Big mistake on my part. . . because when my car's engine light went on, you quickly find that there is no where open that can help you. . . plus also your Queer doesn't show up at ten in the mornin like he says he will. Oh no. You are stranded to roam the Montana city until a couple of Germans invite you to play mini golf and meet up with your queer later at the mall at about five in the evening for him to yell at you.  Delicious. Man I miss him.

Day 2(Monday)- At seven in the morning, I find out that my car needs fixin. . . about a $1,000 fix. Use the money I've saved to do my cross-country roadtrip? I think NOT! After bawling like a little baby betch, I find I can make payments. SCORE! Oh the car will be done by noon? Sure thing skipper.

So at about five that evening, my car is finished and I START my roadtrip. Blasphemous I say. First stop- South Dakota. From prior experiences to travelling to this state, I was a bit scared I was going to run into what me and the Asian like to call "The Derps". Drive,drive, drive, drive, drive, and I decided I can't have my eyes stay open any longer. Where was I staying the night? Where all the cool kids stay- at the trucker stop. I got my bros, that's all I need. My mother insisted I find a hotel. Where's the adventure in that? I wake with the sun, only having 4 hours of sleep, and keep driving.  My destination was only 3 more hours away. 

I didn't think my host (we'll refer to him as Anarchist) would be at home so I pissed around.  Finding little towns to terrorize, etc etc. Finally I got bored waiting for him to be on lunch break and went to the address I was given. Walked in and heard someone upstairs. "Hello?" I called up.
"I think he's in his room." A voice called down.
"THIBODEAUX!!!" I hear.
I ran up to see my greeter, bursting into his room.  The times of fun had begun.  Stayed at his place the night, met the roommates, the dog, up the next morning, and on to adventure.

Day 3(Tuesday)- This was a day of the long haul.  I stopped once to eat and stopping for gas when needed.  Everything was changing toward the end of the day. The air was becoming heavy, the sun was pounding. . .that day, I got news from the North that there was snow. PAH! Man that sucks. . .anywho, I get as far as Tennessee, a little hotel right outside Memphis. 

THIS was the defining moment of my trip.  THIS was when I knew I was no longer in a foreign place such as the north anymore. "Well hey darlin, what can I do for you?"
The exchange continued, I wanted a room, ID, get the key blah blah. . . but AFTER the fact she just sold me a room, this conversation took place. ..

"You can park around back if you like, closer to your room. Or you can park right in front of the office tonight and I'll watch your car. You know, we had three cars broken into last night? But I think that's because the owners of the cars made someone mad." She spoke with a matter-of-fact smile.

"Is that right?" I asked, not weary now. Hell, driving all day, I decided I could sleep in another truck stop. Have Big Boy Billy bring out his banjo and all the other good ol' boys so we can have ourselves a campfire oh the hood of their semi so they can all lul me to sleep. ..

"Mmhmm. You hear anything funny tonight honey, you just call me. I mean it. Call me for anything. If you miss your momma, call me and I'll be your momma for the night. Call me to chat. To feel safe. I'm here for you, ya hear me?"

Oh yeah, she was serious. "Yes, ma'am." I smiled and moved my car in the front of the office, walked up to the second floor and went to bed.

Day 4 (Wednesday)- Got up and went down for some breakfast. In the little dining area, weren't but me and two other gals plus the front desk clerk.  "You want some sausage honey? I can cook some up." She asked.
"No ma'am, some toast and jelly will do me fine."
The ladies were eyeing me from their table. I looked and smiled, asked about their morning.
"Oh we're havin a good one, baby." The bigger of the two responded. "We was just lookin at your dress, wasn't we?" Asking the other gal sitting with her. "Mmhmm that is a real pretty colour on you."

Just a red dress. A red dress that looked like it came from Jamaica and one you can't bend over in. "Thank you ladies. Where you headed?"
" Oh we're vacationing in Memphis. Just cheaper to get a hotel on the outskirts of town. Where you headed, baby?"
"Mississippi."
The started laughing with disgusted looks. "Ain't they got possums and some nasty things down there?"
"Haha, yes ma'am. Crocs, roaches, armadillos."
"Mmhmm, we saw an armadillo. Ran it over. Those things can take out your car you know? A natural armour, they have. Mmhmm. Well you take care baby and have a good one!"

That I did have. I got to Pascagoula in no time. Rolled up to Mema's place and everything had looked as it was when I was last there.

More adventures to come, so stay tuned. I saw that I get viewers from all over the world about my blog. AWESOME! Spread my stories, and maybe one day you'll see yourself in them :) Have a good one!

I Wish You Were Here

I thought my breaking point was the fireworks thrown at me.
I thought my breaking point was the alcohol spilled on me.
I thought my breaking point was the asshole trying to ruin my day.
I thought my breaking point was the person I want to talk to being a million miles away.
I thought my breaking point was the countless bitching to my face when all I did was smile and wait patiently.


None of these were my breaking points. 

My breaking point was a man who told me he could fix my car.
My breaking point was a man who spoke kind and soft words to me.
My breaking point was a man who put something positive in my day.

So now I sit here breaking down, saying a prayer for that kind man.
May he have a blessed week and a much better time than I have had.

Why Bismarck? Pt. I -Police

So, instead of an epic roadtrip like I'd planned for my spring break, my car took a shit on me a couple days before I intended on leaving.  I stayed in a resident hall for the most part, but along came the Asian's weekend- the Monday and Tuesday.  He decided we'd take an adventure of our own.  This is our story. (It will probably be sectioned off into a few different blogs, watch for them.)

He knocked on my window at about 11:00 am. I let him in the side door and he asked if I was still up for leaving.  "Well, you decide?" We'd passively talked about going to Salt Lake, Canada, Boise, Seattle.. whatever.  Just not really taken the time to think about these things. Rarely are these things thought out.  "I don't want to be driving for the majority of my weekend." He tells me.  "Well. Bismarck is only 7 hours away."  We trolled the tourist page of the city.  Sounded legit.  Water park, zoo, arts gallery, why not?

We set off on our adventure about.. noon-thirty or so. He had me drive. I was thinkin he'd sleep because he just got off work. No big.  I can drive stick.... as long as there's no intimidating Asian glare in the passenger seat watching my every move. Oh wait, there was, that's right... little asshole. So we're off. Not much to tell, had some 4B's soup in Miles City, blah blah blah *FASTFORWARD*

So I have a speeding problem. Big whoop.  Who doesn't these days, eh?  So it was gettin dark and we were maybe 45 minutes from our destination.  Usually I slow down when it gets dark because i can't see the po po when they're out.  We get to talkin- because the Asian never slept- and I'm gettin all hyped about the music we're talkin about when all of a sudden I see berries and cherries coming in the opposite direction.  I look down and my speedometer  and I'm going 95... in a 75. Whoopsie. hehe. So the cop crosses the gaping median - okay lemme paint this for you-

The median is about 3 lanes wide itself.  the median is grass and it dips really big in the middle. Had I not slowed my roll and pulled over like a good law-abiding citizen (irony) i probably could have gotten away.  This po po took a good nose dive into the damn median.  Kinda funny to watch.  But here comes the real gold of the story....

The officer walks up, I'm mercilessly apologizing to the Asian already for this. You see, his insurance card is about 4 months expired at this point and hasn't gotten around to getting it updated.  The po po does the routine, license, insurance, registration. "Miss do you know why I pulled you over?" 
Here it comes ladies and gentlemen, the Gingy people rarely get to witness.
"I believe I was speeding sir."
"I clocked you at 95."
"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! I'm not used to this car, no cruise control and all, oh my!Wow!So sorry!"
"Ma'am, can you come back to my car with me?"
I look at Asian confused, this never happens.  "Uh, sure." I step out of the car and follow him to his cop car. "Does this usually happen in North Dakota? Getting in the cop car?"
He chuckles a little, " I just don't want to get hit tonight standing out there is all."
We get in the car, I'm a little soothed that I'm not going to the big house. 
"Where you headed?"
"Bismark. For a vacation."
"In Bismarck?" He chuckles," Why there?"
Before I knew it I was tellin him all kinds of things and he was asking more questions. Even told him how Asian and I met, what I was going to school for and my plans of heading to Mississippi in May.  This man was just eating it up.  People, you must understand, no one and I mean NO one can refuse southern charm.  Silly things like when he asked what I was in college for and my replies.
"Mathematics right now."
"Who goes to school for that?" He smiles.
"Guess I'm just good with numbers. Clearly not the ones on the road." I chuckle back.  He laughs it up.
"Well, I don't know how they do it in Montana and Wyoming, but we have a point system here. I only marked you were going 90 so you don't have as many points racked up and have your license taken away." 
"Well that's so sweet of you!"
"But I do have to give you a ticket. I'll even give you an envelope so you can mail the money within the next two weeks."
"Thank you sir." A little wink. 

I walk back to the car, finishing up my charming with a quick smile and flick of the hair. I look at the ticket and burst out laughing.  I get in the car, happy as a clam.
"What's the damage?" Asian asks.
"Hehe. Guess. Just guess!"
"Well, somethin like THAT would have put me at a $250 ticket and a night in jail!"
"Hehehehehe try $75."
"WHAT? WHAT?!NO!THAT'S SO BULLSHIT!"
"Hehee no one can resist.."
"Seriously. That's not even fair. I'm mad at you right now!"
I giggle a little more and this conversation goes back and forth for a while. 

We ride up into Bismarck a little later and that fun begins in Part II.

Again, One Smile Calms All

This last week has been hectic for me. 

With a whopping 20 page paper on the mind, artworks to submit to have a chance to be published, and other miscelaneous papers and homework on top of figuring out what the hell is going on with the financial aid office, I think I might have reached a near-cracking point.
I had a few mental breakdowns in a day - of which I even had my mother call me to calm me down.  Those that know me this never happens.  If anything I avoid conversation with the family as not to blow up. 

After work on Friday, I scrambled to get all of my art together to take to a guy who was the photographer for the magazine I was entering in.  Then the submissions go to a panel and they decide what works are awesome enough to get in and which ones aren't.  As I enter the room where submissions are being photographed,  I see there's only two guys in there- the photo guy and just another dude finishing up handing in his submissions.  I breathe a little, knowing I'll be next and not stressing about the deadline which was two hours from where I was standing. 

They seemed pretty chill, just comments about their art and such. The photographer looks at me, "Hey Thibodeaux." Always going somewhere that I'm a familiar face.  It's actually quite nice.  "Hi." I try to force a quick smile.  "Brought your stuff for me to take pictures of?"
"Mmhmm."
"Almost done with this guy, then you're next."
"Do you have any submission forms?"
He looks around, "No, but if I tell you where they are, you wanna bring me a stack?"
"Sure thing!" I was a little excited, wanting to make this official.
After his specific instructions, I hurridly made way to the next building over to talk to some of the panel to get some submission forms.  When I got back, he was finishing photos for the last metal sculpture of the guy who was in front of me.  Patiently I waited, filling out all submission forms, one for each artwork. 
"Alright man, that's it," I heard him say.
"Thanks again for doing this!" The metal sculptist began taking all of his artwork from the room.
"You ready?" The photographer asked. 
"I have some necklaces I made. Glass beads on one and buttons for another."
"Necklaces. Cool! Yeah, bring them over."  He began positioning them in an eye-pleasing sort of way.
"Position them how you'd like them." He told me.
"You're also an artist, do as you please."
He chuckled at me, "Don't tell me that..." and proceeded to take pictures.
"You almost out of here?" I asked, refering to graduation in May.
"Yeah, I've been here too long. Been here three years and I still don't know what I'm doing."
Woah, sounded like me.  Cept he seemed pretty chill about the whole situation.
"Ha, I've been here three years too and will also be graduating this May.  No idea what will come next. I know I'll be going back to Mississippi but that's about it."  He switched necklaces to take pictures.
"Mississippi, eh? I'll be heading to Colorado.  I think I'm just gonna go with the flow, take a year off and see where we go from there."

That made my day.  Finally, someone else that doesn't know what they're doing, doesn't know where the wind will take them, but he just seemed so damn OKAY about it.  I used to be like that.  I have no idea why I let all of this build up and get to me.  Who cares if I didn't get accepted into the Boston program? Who cares that I'm getting some associates I have no idea what I will do with? Who cares if all I know is that I'm going to Sippy and takin my Asian with me?  I'm not dying and I'm not terribly off.  We had a few more little short chats and later on some giggles about my Penis painting that I did. 
I was relieved all over again that I didn't have to explain to him the meaning behind it because he himself was an artist too. 

Moral? No one knows what's going on.  Everyone just has different ways of looking at the unknown.

Hot Men in Montana

Okay, So I used to work at a classy establishment.  Probably in the top few bests in the small town I lived in for a while in Montana.  I worked there for 2 years or so,  calling Keno games and after a while, waitressing. 

I worked with some awesome ladies that were about as shy as I was- not at all.  To keep the story straight between ladies, they were Nick, Charles, and Jules. (Because you know by now I don't use real names in my blogs.) Nick was a tiny little gal, 5 years my senior, and sweet as peaches. Don't let her fool you, you do NOT mess with her.  She keeps her man and all her ducks in a row, not a force to recon with.  Then there was Charles, a feisty gal who kept you on your toes and had your classic 'wise-guy' attitude with the senior gentlemen.  They got a real kick outta her.  Then there was Jules- the third comedian who liked to check out 'hot men' with me. 

Well, naturally, as all waitresses will, we would talk about our customers as they left.  " I liked them! They left a nice tip!" or, "Did you see him? Psh, check me out as I walk away, yeah I'll give you somethin to look at buddy!" and the list goes on.  Our favourites were when older couples came in, dressed their Sunday bests for an evening out.  Always the cutest to see a couple that has lasted that long, you know. . . until you found out they were brother and sister, not married.

Much much more than the elderly couples, however, were the 'hot men'.  Asses hangin outta the pants like mad plumber's crack,  bellies spilling over like crazy with NO tee to tuck it in or overalls to hold it up, and the craziest hats/facial hair/ expressions you've ever seen.  Sometimes there needed be no words from staff to staff but a subtle look from one to the other across the restaurant and a slight smile or hint of the eyes.  All waitresses out there know what I'm talking about.  Sometimes, after they'd left, we'd whisper at my Keno table for giggle's sake, "Did you see the mouth on that one?! Like he was coming at me to take a bite!"

But the particular incident disclosed here today is the one that goes in our memory banks as the sight of the history. 

I believe it was a day during the week; was a Wednesday or Thursday because of how slow it was.  It was during the summer- I remember the stuffiness of the place and us all wishing and hoping we didn't have to work because the sun was shining and we knew the lake would be divine.  There were only a couple tables in the whole restaurant and I was cleaning my Keno counter when all of a sudden Jules jumps over to me,  "Come quick! Come quick! There's a hottie outside! SERIOUSLY you're going to miss him!"  Without another moment's notice, I spring from behind my counter and speed-walk to where she is leading me.  "THERE! On the corner! I saw him pass our window and I had to show you!"

I look on the corner and immediately got the attack of laughter that had to be hushed in the establishment.  Ever notice how things are always funniest when you have to keep quiet?  Out on the sidewalk,  waiting at the stoplight (our workplace, on the corner)  was an older looking lanky fella with no shirt, hand high on one hip, newspaper in the other, squinting into the sun with, in contrast to his lanky arms and legs, a beer-belly that seeped over his -and get this- cut-off short shorts.  We just about died that day.  I will never get this image out of my head. 

As you can tell, the 'hot men' we were interested in lookin for were the ones you find on, oh, say... People of Walmart. You know the site and it's never pretty. 

Whoever you were, if you have a computer, or ever look at things on the internet, this story was for you and just know that you made our day.

The Asian

Well, we've been dating for a while now, and I decided it's finally time for an Asian story. He cracks me up... not because he means to. Really.  He's just Asian... as he possibly can be, all Americanized and such. Whatever. On to the story.

Pretty much when I get to see the Asian is on his weekends; Mondays and Tuesdays.  Usually all that consists of is watching movies, playing video games on rare occasion, watching youtube... you know. Hangin out and stuff.  Until the Asian is unleashed in public... now THAT is some funny shit. 

So this past particular Tuesday,  we went out for a walk.  I like my sunlight and get cabin fever easily, he hisses at it.  You can only imagine how long these walks do not last.  We're walkin to the bank to deposit money which is just halfway across town from the college, no big.  Wind is mild- rare for Wyoming- and little Asian bastard is running us into traffic, kicking in windshields, you know, what other Asians do on their free time.

It's a joke, you can laugh now.

We're coming close to the bank, about a block away and there's a HUGE mailbox. "You can fit packages in that mailbox!" He said.  " I know!"  Because, dude. It was true. This was an OVERLY over-sized mailbox. (Remember this mailbox here in a minute) We walk into the bank.

As I'm waiting for a teller, he goes to sit on one of the big comfy couches at said bank.  I watch him sit, and proceed to talk to himself and/or the couch... it went something a little like this.

"What is that in my back?" Looks behind him.
"Oh, wow that's a cushion! That's a nice cushion."  Fluffs the cushion.
"Very nice." Looks at it thoughtfully, then slams his back very hard on it.
"Hm." He raises his eyebrows with satisfaction. 

I burst out laughing and that was when I realized I'm dating the guy that turns into the old guy that comments on everything in the store.  You know?  That guy that everyone thinks is a creeper because he's really nice and fraternizes with the lawn and gardening section?  THAT guy. 

I told him I was watching him, and what a creeper he was.  He just smiled.  Then proceeded to tell me about how he wants to make this giant mailbox (we're walking past it again) but with some modifications.  He wants to be an old guy with a giant mailbox that has the opening like a bear trap.  Then the mailman can set the mail on what he thinks is the trigger to this bear trap but be relieved to find out that it's not really going to chop his arm off. 

Then keeps going on with his futuristic story menacingly about how it would actually be a bear trap so no one would steal his mail. "No one wants to steal your mail, paranoid!" I jokingly spat at him.  "It's a felony, you know! What if some kids, as a joke, tried to take my mail?"  He laughed to himself, "It'd be funny. The next day you'd see some five year old dangling from my mailbox.  That'll teach him."  He chuckles to himself.  I laugh hysterically.  Who the fuck says that shit?


SO that's just one of many stories of the Asian.  Many more to come. Happy reading, everyone!

Starts with One Good Thing

So, today was your average shit day.

Wake up five minutes before work, throw on clothes, fighting the migraine pounding, and nonetheless on the second day of college- the busiest at a grille on campus.  Not so fun when you're a cook and everything else.  College kids and professors alike rolling in, hungry as hell, and impatient as all get out.  I and two other ladies were working our asses off, grilling, frying, dishing as fast as we could-

And I swear if I hear one more impatient bitch complain about not having her food after five minutes, I will cut a bitch. I will CUT her. Anywho,

I get done with work and head for a nice cold shower, thinking I have another hour and ten before my class starts. I get all dolled up after the shower. It's what I do on days that start out terrible. I dress up in colours and it's an instant picker-upper... let me paint this our for you-

Mustard tights, red/yellow/green floral skirt, striped shirt with a grey vest and brown boots.. I know, sounds hideous, but if it makes my mood better then you better damn roll with it! Oh, and you can't forget my blue hair... oh that blue hair... no one forgets that.
I look in the mirror, smile, sigh, check my schedule again for the room and... oh yes, oh but YES today of all days. Fate would have it that the class actually doesn't start at two like I thought. It starts at one. So I'm not going to be 15 minutes early, I'm going to be 45 minutes late. So I decide not to go. One day, I can afford it. 

I head to the Damn Asian's place to do my laundry.  It's free, it just makes sense for me to go there instead of paying up the ass for dryers that might or might not work the first two times.

The smell of 5+ men in one house can be quite nauseating. Add that to the migraine and we have ourselves a frustrated ginger with a terrible attitude.  I head back to my place to take care of more campus things... like figure out this whole getting out of a terrible class bit, yet into another one so I'm still considered a full time student.

I walk to the music building to talk to the professor there, hang out in an acting class for a while, and eventually leave, still in a downer mood.

As I'm coming to the crosswalk in 7th Street- the street that divides our college grounds- a truck rolls up. A big truck. One might say a "big dick" truck around there parts.  You know, the over compensating looking trucks that could be easily used for real work but probably just some kid who has a penis complex. That kind.

I wait for the truck to go first, having already a previous issue with the 'type' I classify them in.  I see the passenger in the truck staring at me as he starts to roll down his window.

Here it comes. Just pile it on, buddy.

He rolls down the window as they're driving away and yells out,

"You're beautiful!"


I didn't know what to say.  I didn't say anything.  I smiled at this kind passer-by.  He smiled back. 

I held my head high on my walk back to my hall.  I smiled the whole way. That smile that is usually plastered on my face day to day.  That smile was put back on my face from the act of a kind stranger I was quick to assume about.  Perhaps there is still hope in this world.