Billings doesn't know what to do

Another adventure of Queer and I. We realize how ridiculous we are and we also realize we like it.

Just a Sunday afternoon with nothing in particular planned and a head full of ideas. Queer suggests we go to Billings- the nearest town in Montana, as we live in Wyoming for college if you recall. I was thinking of not going, trying to save some money as a poor college student and what not. Quickly I realized I had nothing else better to do. Why not.

Off we went, singing along to the foreign tunes of which the translations we didn't know, screaming at other cars that passed, and him faking to drive off the road and end my life. There was a super sale in Borders that we knew about- the main goal of the day. We walked in and a worker told us, " This is the last day of the sale, everything is a dollar or less." We exchanged looks and didn't utter a word.We were off on our search for epic books and music. I had eleven dollars worth of both and he had about eighteen dollars worth. Music and books we'd never heard of- just summaries and cover artwork we found interesting. We looked at our receipts to see how much we saved- mine came to $190 or so, and his came to a whopping $299 of savings on books and music. We were satisfied with our findings.  Off to the mall. We were British where ever we went, getting glances and such.

I think I mortified a teen in WetSeal, seeing she was wearing ridiculously short shorts SO short her bright pink pockets were awkwardly longer and poking out of the bottom of her shorts. In my British snootiness, I scoffed at her, "Oh dear, your pockets are longer than your shorts. What is the point of that?" She looks at me confused. "Oh is it weird? Have you never seen that before?" I chuckle, "You can see your bright pink pockets. A little too short for my taste." I turn to the front of the line of which I was about to make my purchases. Queer shakes his head and gives me a glance. "Such an interesting place, America?" He says. To which we begin to talk about how inane American boys especially are in their rudeness. It was epic how quickly she got out of line to go back to shopping until we got out of the store.

I had to giggle. Not because I'm a rude being but because she didn't know what to say or how to argue.

Then we trolled the peoples of JCPenny's, Hot Topic, and Aeropostale. In one of the stores we glanced over, a worker at one of the more feminine places asks me so sweetly, "Are you from London?" "Birmingham." I reply with a smile. She gets a quizzical look, "I have no idea where that is." "Haha very close," I said. "That is so cool!" She exclaims then tells me about the deals in the store.

After who knows how many hours of trolling the innocent people of Montana, we are rather famished. It took us about forty-five minutes of looking for a cheap DINNER chinese buffet, but gave up and settled with Denny's.... The waiter, the people around us.... no one had any idea what was going on. We got jacked up on cup of coffee upon cup of coffee and were hysterical by the time it was time to go home. We were busting a gut from the racial slurs we were dropping - innocent ones, I give you my word on that one- to the baby in the diaper thing that was spidering the windows of the establishment. People and their kids these days.... Also another incident I'm not going to talk about. Either way, we were cutting up left and right, crying so hard until we left.

Oh waiter, you know that syrup cup that you're probably wondering if you even gave to me in the first place? I have it.

Too much laughter for a night I tell ya. Well if there is such a thing anywhozers. Back into Bjorn we ride, off into the evening sky, blaring our music, our ears getting boners just listening to music so pleasing we could probably have died happy at that moment. I'm actually quite worn from the day and would just like to leave the story with this- laugh often and cry from laughter as much as possible. Warning: will need much stupidity.

Thugs, Beads, and Toaster Struddles

This story is about my 13th birthday party. I assure you the title will make sense once you've read it through. My family and I had just moved into this two story house with a basement and had no furniture. Eleven girls were invited over to sleep in our big empty living room floor. Enjoy.

I'd never had a birthday party that I actually remembered before this one. Sure, my mum tells me I had a ton of parties when I was younger, but who remembers those? Memories wasted on the younger I tell ya! Anywhozers, My mum was well prepared- so much little breakfast items it was improbable we'd starve in the morning, she had six or eight pizzas ordered, six large boxes of soda, and a delightful cake. White. Not chocolate. Delicious.

To start out the night, we waited until everyone was there, then we feasted. I think we polished off all the pizza but it was too long ago to remember. Nothing speaks to a crowd of the rowdy like freakin pizza.  After pizza came cake, yadda yadda, fun times. *FAST FORWARD*

My day of celebrated birth is in January, and in the podunk towns of the north, that means snow. Lots of it. So we tried to entertain ourselves in the house as much as possible until we couldn't stand but to go outside anymore. We did dumb things. Fun things. Retarded things. Really, we stacked ourselves into pyramids, made our names on the floor out of our bodies, took pictures of all the shenanigans... it was weird. So much fun.  After a while we moved out to the back room and started to consume all the soda in the house. That's a lot of soda just for twelve girls. We did the "would you rather" games, "truth or dare" games, and the oh so famous "I've never" games. Soda was running low and we were getting cabin fever. Outside we go.

First place of destination- (for the protection of name's sake as I do in every story of mine) Patrick Lampho's house. Ohhhh Patrick. Imagine if you will- about ten'o'clock at night and twelve girls show up at your doorstep because the birthday girl wants to see you. Silly crushes silly crushes. Brown hair, blue eyes... not your classic blue, this crazy electric blue, and a smile that would kill any girl. I was chatting.... not really. More like blushing and begging the gals to shut their coon calls so I could compose myself. A few minutes of that, then the gals were getting antsy. We made a motion to walk back to my house then there were two old guys walking by. To us, the immediate assumption of  'Thug' status considering their clothing and their age. Probably high school guys at the time, but to us they looked years older than what they really were.  The two boldest of the group, (at this time, it was not me if you can imagine) started yelling at them to screw off and started flipping them the bird. This is the part of the party where we run.

Leaving Patrick at the corner of his block, all girls running about four blocks back to my place- thugs following. Two girls hysterically crying in fear. Hehe. Funny. We get back to my place and shut the curtains to the big picture windows- thugs still outside. They proceed to throw snowballs at my huge window. Uh oh. The mother is alerted. "What is going on?" Uhm... nothing. Going upstairs.

We go up to my room, peering down at the guys. They run away. We chilled in my room for a while until someone started looking through my book stash- then found my book of scary stories. Lights out, all but a flashlight. The stories went on until one by one went downstairs into the living room again, bored of stories. We laid out our sleeping bags and pillows to get ready for bed but we were so jacked up on soda and cake there was no way we were going to bed so early..... well, at one in the mornin anyway. We told our own stories about home, families, other birthday parties, and whatever else came to mind.  At one point we got too loud and my mum came into the living room, "Girls please, it's three in the morning, let's simmer down." 

Didn't even realize it was so late. We were up for about another hour, only three of us up the whole night, and by ten, everyone was waken again to eat breakfast.  That was perhaps one of the funnest breakfasts I've ever had. Toaster strudels, waffles, french toast sticks, everything that came in a box. Not my mum's style, but everyone had something they liked best. The parents were to start picking up at noon. Until then, I needed a way to entertain the ladies. Being a southerner, you can bet your ass I had been to Mardi Gras and luckily still had all my bead necklaces from the parades. I did drawings for them- for dice ones, fish ones, sparkly ones, and the traditional round purple, gold, and green. Everyone left with a little something since I didn't have any goodie bags to leave them with.

It was down to the last gal and I, and I walked her home since she lived down the alley from me. We talked about the previous night and giggled about everyone's little secrets. Seriously one of the most memorable birthdays I've ever had.  When the pictures got developed I showed everyone- the greatest and most diverse group of gals ever to hit that small town of havoc.

Riding Horses

Yesterday was the first time ever I rode a horse. End of intro.

The past two weeks have been super busy due to Resident Assistant training and I finally had a day off save the hours I had to work front desk.  After those hours the gal I'd been working with, "Cinth", a German that came to Woming of all places, had asked me if I wanted to go riding with her. I was quite nervous- seeing as how I already had issues riding in cars and the thought of riding something with a mind of its own was no comfort. Nonetheless I agreed to go with her. Just one of those things that I thought to myself that I'd regret not going if I didn't go.

We arrived at her host family's ranch and I saw tens of horses. Colts, Mustangs, 'Sluts' as Cinth called them, and other kinds of horses and magicalness. First we fed them- this I had no problem with.  Once upon a time in middle school I always went to another friend's ranch and we fed cows. Horses, cows, big animals that eat hay. Easy enough.

Then it started to become real- we were getting the horses. Cinth got mine for me first- "Her name is Pearl," as she handed me the rope to lead the horse out to the post to get her saddle on.  She was a beautiful silverish brown horse.  

Now at this moment, I was calm. I had to be. I've watched too many of those damn discovery shows where they tell you that animals freak the fuck out because they can feel your tension through the leash/rope/harness or what have you and it makes them tense too. So, due to paranoia, I was as loose as I could possibly be. Pearl was a good horse either way. She was very still and patient when I brushed her and stood relatively still when Cinth put the saddle on her. Then she put the saddle on her horse, Sal. He was a lighter colour than Pearl was.  We walked a little ways down a path, then two clicks to get them at a trot, then Cinth looks over at me, "Want to get them to gallop?" Here we go, I thought. This is where the horror comes into play and I fall off the horse at high speeds. "Sure." Two kiss noises and we were off. I was very calm as I clung to the saddle and reigns. This was unlike anything I'd ever done. I mean. Really. Think about it. Even you that have ridden horses and dolphins all your life- you're on an animal. As yourself, another living, breathing creature. It takes a lot of trust between human and beast. We came to a halt after a bit, Cinth giving me lessons on how to circle a horse and speed up and stop and other directions.

"I'm impressed. You sure this is your first time?" She asked me.  This made me smile. "Yeah, never ridden in my life." We rode back to the ranch, out in some pasture and saw other wild horses.  "Next time, we'll go to the creek. Pearl loves to play in the creek." She was also pointing out to me some rocks and hills and stuff that the horses can go up. "Another time when we have more time." She said.  Sounded great to me.

On our way home she started talking about getting to train horses and breaking them and even suggested I could break my own horse one day.  I can't believe I'd never considered any of this before. Hell, I grew up around enough of it but I suppose was always turned off by the idea because I considered it hickish. It took a crazy German to invite me to see how fun it was haha. I even started talking about buying my own boots. (That day for riding, I had converse. OH yeah. I'm that kid.)

Conclusion? You already know it. Get out there and do something you've never done. Never gone bowling and Aunty Freakshow invites you? GO! Never been bungee jumping because you're too afraid to smack the ground and best friend Chomper invites you? You'd better go. Live life. Don't fear it.

In Cali We Rise

One of my favourite memories and my best friend Queer, as we shall call him, is when we took a two week roadtrip to start in Wyoming, go to Salt Lake, Vegas, Los Angeles, up all the coast of Cali, Portland, Seattle, then Missoula, Montana, and back to our little college in Wyoming. This is just one of the many stories we got through this experience.

We were finally in Portland after all of our trip- eating nothing but McD's salads- seeing as how I'm pescetarian and we were poor kids. Mostly me. My Queer paid for this trip and the next one is on me.  At any rate, we were finally in Portland, land of all that is green and concrete in between. I just remember the two of us being stoked beyond all belief- screaming at the top of our lungs at any car that drove past, sharing our excitement. Eyes wide, and loving the feeling of being in a big city once again.

We followed a car with the license plate of FAP until we passed it. Then we started screaming about how pretty the town was. "SO PREEETEEEEEEE" screamed Queer. We were so stoked. We passed the Shanghai Tunnels however. Saddest day ever! But there were lots of other things in the trip that made the sadness disappear quickly. Screaming "YEON" at cars was super fun especially when the people in other vehicles look petrified.

We crossed the bridge into Vancouver and saw more of the pretty green that covered older houses and lovely little parks. The whole experience was to die for- just two college kids looking for adventure in the most awesome places.  We took pictures and even videos of our screeching excitement.

Two weeks sleeping in a car with only two showers the whole trip and a couple salads a day. Just goes to show you can have fun anywhere as long as you allow yourself to have it. Doesn't have to be fancy, doesn't have to be expensive. Just as long as your inner child comes out and you bring someone along to play along with your silly games.

Pascagoula, Mississippi

I love my mema AKA grandmother for all you non-southerners. This story I'm about to get into is probably one of the craziest and my personal favourite.

Hurricane Katrina hit the one year I and my two brothers were all in the same school- My younger, a freshman, I, a sophomore, and my older brother a senior.  Just a couple days before school started for that year, we come home to a message on the answering machine from Uncle Cleve. (He's not really our uncle, it's just what we call him. Like Uncle Matt. And Pete. And Sister Donna. Everyone is just related but not really. Bueno.)  Anywhozers, the message says "Hey *mother's name* it's Cleve, your mother called me and told me to tell you that the water has gotten up to her ankles but she's still staying in the house. She doesn't think it will get much worse." Us kids laugh, my mother in panic. As kids, she is indestructible. That woman is WIN. To my mum, she looks at it realistically- the water is literally only an acre behind our Mema's house and has NEVER gotten to her house. When it's ankle deep, the water is getting pretty serious.

My mum instantly tries to call Mema. Nothing- as expected. I'll have you know that woman doesn't go to school -(my mum is a teacher at the high school we ALL go to- big happy family, eh?) -but doesn't go to school the first four days of school because she watched the television sleeplessly waiting for Mema to, oh you know, pop up on the tv screen floating across in the water. Like a crazy person. She cried, was melodramatic about the whole thing, and people were bringing over plates of food so my mum wouldn't have to cook. What really ticked my brothers off was when the school councilor brought us in one by one asking us all how we were doing. That day after school was fun. My older bro, "What the hell! Seriously, it's annoying. Not everyone is dramatic about their million year old mother dying." Then the younger one, "She asked if I needed time off for school. Mom wouldn't go for that anyway so I don't even know why she asked."
Really it was rather comical. It was a bit odd- asking if I was okay. Asking if I wanted to talk about it or cry it out. Well. She's still indestructible in my eyes, and clearly lived otherwise I might be telling this in a different manner.... but probably not.

But on that fourth day of school I'll never forget coming home... "You watch the television and I'm fixin' to run to the grocery store. Do NOT change it from the news channel!" And with the sobbing and blubbering, blah blah go get some food.  I of course change the channel to some good after school cartoons... yes as a sophomore. Because I'm cool like that. Anywho, I shit you not, ten minutes after mum leaves, I get a phone call- it's her. The infamous Mema. "Hey baby, it's your mema."
"Oh hey Mema, you doing okay?"  You know. Real casual like.
"Yes, is your mother there?"
"She actually just went to the store. She's gonna crap her pants when she finds out she's missed a call from you."
"Well then I'll just talk to you until she gets back."
Just another ten minutes or so- the grocery is just down the street from us. Mum comes rolling up, starts bringing in groceries, I open the door, "Hey, Mema is on the phone."
She drops everything in her hands and starts screaming. If you know my mum, you know that you do NOT want to be in earshot of this shenanigans. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WHY DID YOU STAY YOU STUPID WOMAN?! I'VE BEEN WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU!!"
All that jazz. So, now that you've heard it from our side, I'll tell you what happened to Mema and how she survived Hurricane Katrina.

The water was up to her ankles- then her knees. Old lady gotta pee, so she was on a mission, from the living room to down the hall to the pisser, the water was pouring in from her bedroom- her big ass iron bedframe was lifted by the water and crashed into a wall to break it open. So she was heading back toward the living room to get her purse- yes her purse. Hurricane floods or not, she needs her old lady things! Then goes to the freezer to get a big sack of seafood- it was for us in the northern state. She would have felt bad had she not gone back for it to send to us via UPS. Crazy lady.

She cuts a hole in the side screen door and swims out into the water. An almost eighty year old woman. Swimming. In the gulf of Mexico. In a hurricane. I'm sorry, but I believe any awesome grandmother stories you have out there have been trumped. The neighbors on the houseboat saw her and her large seasack floating in the waters. They took a row boat over, got her, put her on the houseboat, and I'll have you know that all they ate for three days was the seafood she carried and the beer on the boat. That's intuition.

The waters cleared and my crazy cousin Juju (this is a real cousin) did everything she could to find Mema and get her to a damn phone to contact us with. There you have it. That's the epic story of mema.

Mema and Her Shenanigans

Mema is my grandma. MEE MAH is how you pronounce it. She's the coolest old lady you've ever met- ask anyone. She instantaneously becomes anyone's grandma within five minutes.

Ever since I was younger, I always thought Mema to be invincible- all of us grand-kids did. Seriously- One time, Mema was mowing the lawn, as she always did weekly, her and her crotchety old self. The mower, probably as old as she is, decided not to work one day. What does Mema do? Kicks the damn thing to start it. Of course, it starts and she chops off her big toe. You'd think, man, she probably went to the doctor asap! Or for you pessimists, you think she's bled to death. Wrong and wrong. She sets her dissembled toe aside, mows the rest of the lawn, hobbles to the back door, THEN calls for help. That's my Mema.

This is the woman who would scream at you and tell you to go to the corner because you laughed too loud during M*A*S*H*. You do NOT interrupt her reruns of M*A*S*H*. We were all so rebellious of course. Maker her mad, get sent to a corner, rebel, then watch her 'cry'. Oh yes, she would put on quite the show. We were rotten and laughed at her crying anyway. So she'd stop and start screaming again. Ha good times.

Mema is the craziest upon crazy. She was raised a Catholic, and a good Catholic woman she shall be- that except when it comes to Goofy or current boyfriends. Yes, my grandmother has a love affair with that long-eared, big nosed best friend of Mickey. One time she took us to Disneyland and bought herself a foot and a half Goofy. She couldn't take him on the plane because of too much she was taking already. She turns to me, "You take good care of my man, you hear?" She says with a wink. "You kiss him goodnight for me, and tuck him in real nice in bed. I'll be back for him." She smiles that dirty Mema smile and boards.

Then there was the time I was dating a guy in high school. Mema met him for the first time when she'd come up for Thanksgiving. (She is at home in the south, we are in hell in the north.) He left our house one day so I asked Mema what she thought. "Oh he is a handsome devil! If I were your age, I'd give you a run for your money!" "Mema, what the eff! I'm your granddaughter!"
She smirks and chuckles, "I knowww." Dirty old bat. "I would give him the- duh nuh! Duh nuh!" As she undoes her robe to reveal her night gown, singing old strip club music. "MEMA!!" I laugh. She giggles.

She came a second and third time. When we brought her to our church, everyone remembered her- "Hi Mema!" They chime. "Hey Mema! How are you?" A million times, her not remembering who is who. "Dayumn." She whispers, "I'm leaving here with four times as many grandchildren as when I last came up!"

This is the infamous Mema that I talk of often. She means the world to me and I hope I end up to be half as cool as she is. Stay tuned another week for the most EPIC story of all stories- Mema vs Hurricane Katrina.

Optimism vs Pessimism

It was brought to my attention earlier, "Well, what's the point of being an optimist? You get all your hopes up for something and sometimes it crashes and fails and you get disappointed."

I had a quick answer for that one.  First off, I don't get disappointed to the point where I've ever become pessimistic, it's just not in my nature. However, that answer doesn't fly for all of us optimists, so here is what said: If you look at it this way, pessimists are all kinds of disappointment anyway- they believe nothing good will come, everything will go wrong, and they won't believe in themselves because they believe it leads to failure. Optimists look on the brighter side, have aspirations, might dream big, but because they dream big and believe themselves to be capable, they make things capable. If one does fail, you've lost nothing then haven't you? You were happy doing whatever it was you were to accomplish, you tried, and if you failed, there's always trying again or doing something different- quite frankly, an optimist doesn't give a shat. Like killing a cockroach. Doesn't happen.
But with all that happiness, wouldn't the slightest of failures every now and then make it worth it? Being a pessimist seems a little disappointing at all times.

Right?