Bag Lady

Moving is a big giant pain. I assure you. And it's an even bigger pain when you aren't capable of throwing anything away. Until you need to move and get angry at how much crap you have accumulated since moving in to your apartment. I have BAGS and BAGS of just crap that I'm throwing away. I have BAGS and BAGS of crap that I'm giving to the DI. I have BAGS and BAGS of clothing and things like that which is all heading over to Michael's. Basically, I'm the bag lady.



And here is my extremely crude drawing of an entertainment center that I am giving away for free. Which actually looks nothing like the actual entertainment center itself. But I've been sending it in response to inquiries, anyways. Because I'm crazy like that.

Final thing for any Family Guy fans: Haven't you heard? Bird is the word.

Much Love!

Pants

So today I was walking down the hallway at work to go to the bathroom, as I've been known to do. And a random thought popped into my head. It said "There's something funny about the butt of these pants."



As I have been living out of a suitcase for the past 2 months, I haven't carried around all my clothes. Obviously. So I've been packing around a few pairs of jeans and left the others at my apartment. In packing up my clothes to bring to Michael's, I have rediscovered all my other billion pairs of jeans. Seriously, how many jeans does one person need? As I can't own jeans and have them go to waste, I have been wearing the other lonely jeans in for the past two days.



Yesterday as I was leaving Michael's (soon to just be called "home") in the morning, a random though popped into my head saying "There's something funny about the legs of these pants." But Michael was sleeping and I was already out the door. So I just left. When I got to work, I looked dow and sure enough, I remembered exactly WHY I didn't tow these particular pants around. The last time I wore them, I noticed that the bottom hem was ripped and hanging. I stepped on the hem to rip off part of it, and it did more than that. It ripped off the whole bottom and then ripped up the leg a bit. So I walked around yesterday with a severe case of pants that looked like bell-bottom floods.

(Not mine below)

Back to my butt. The seam in the back is off. You know what I'm talking about- the seam that is supposed to go up the crack. It's off. It's more on one cheek than in the middle. And it bothers me. It's not like it's a big deal. Unless someone is doing a careful examination of my butt, they wouldn't even notice. But I do.



My point is- moving is a good thing as it forces you to get rid of the junk and crap and pants that you don't wear for a reason. And a giant box of stuffed animals that have no memories attached to them. Not even one small memory.....



Much Love!

A Ghost Story

I have decided that Michael's house is haunted. I know that some people scoff at the idea of ghosts, spirits, leftover energy, whatever you want to call them. And everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But my opinion is that there are such things as the supernatural and there's something in Michael's house. Hear me out.

There have been a few times that I have actually heard someone talking to me while I am almost asleep. It's been a whisper here and there, and an actual quiet voice here and there. It doesn't scare me, it doesn't make me feel uncomfortable or anything like that, so I don't even mind it. Which may sound wierd considering that something is talking to me when I'm at Michael's house alone. But I just don't get a bad feeling about it.

With my whole living situation, Michael and I have decided to cohabitate. Live together. I'm moving in. (Wahoo!) Michael decided that since I'll be living there and he's gone a lot that he'd feel more comfortable with me having a shotgun handy. He sat me down and went through the process with me. It's ingrained in my head now. Push up button, cock it (click click!), flip off the safety, push the button for the flashlight if needed, and BOOM! I have a small fear of guns, but only because I don't understand them. Knowing how to protect myself if it came down to it feels good. So I am armed and dangerous now when it comes to someone trying to break in to rape and kill me.



Anyways, so I had brought over some bags of clothes to Michael's house last night. I threw some clothes in the washer and went outside to read. After the insistent beep-beep of the washer letting me know it was done, I went back downstairs to throw the clothes in the dryer. That was when I heard someone walking around upstairs. I'm not kidding, I'm not exagerating, whatever. Someone was walking around upstairs and that's a fact. I felt real terror. My heart started pumping, I started sweating. Pictures of me raped and killed flashed through my head. I thought about how it would hurt my friends and family. I wondered who would find my body. I'm not kidding, people- these are actual thoughts that I had while I was just standing there frozen in terror. And then I got pissed. The shotgun is in the bedroom upstairs. I was stuck in the landry room downstairs. How was I going to get to the gun? I looked around the landry room for something, anything, to defend myself and give me the distraction I needed to get to the gun. The only thing I found was a can of brake parts cleaner which we use as spider-killer. So I grabbed the can and shook it to get it ready. I crept up the stairs as silently as I could. I couldn't see anyone in the kitchen so I made my way to the bedroom. Dropped the break-parts cleaner and grabbed the shotgun. Got it all ready to be fired with the exception of the safety, as I wouldn't want to panic at something stupid and shoot a hole in Michael's wall. I looked like a bad-ass, actually. Little 5 foot tall, 95 pound me with a big old shotgun. Anyways, so I went through the entire apartment checking the closets and dark corners. Nothing. Both the front and back doors were still locked up tight. The place was empty. At least it was empty of a living breathing human being (other than myself, obviously).

Now if I had been drinking or sleeping, I could tell myself that I imagined it. But I genuinely did not imagine this. I don't have a super-active imagination that actually makes me imagine sounds and the like. It was real.

I'm not scared of the ghost walking around and talking to me. I just wish it would do it a little more quietly so I didn't assume I was going to be violently attacked. Maybe if I ask nicely????

Much Love!

Zap

The following is a tribute to my dear sister. I only post this out of love for her. And because it makes me laugh. Hysterically.



Much Love from me and my buddy Jesus.

Change Of Subject

All I hear these days is talk about:

The Bail-Out

The Election

Sarah Palin

Football

My Living Situation

Granted, I do have an interest in all of these things. But I'd really like to talk with people about something OTHER than those things every now and then. So here is a list of things that I would like to talk about with anyone.

Burger King Commercials. You know what I'm talking about- the ones with "The King". I laugh loudly at the newest one with reverse pick-pocketing. If you haven't seen it yet, you definately need to watch more TV just so you can experience that pleasure. Let's talk about "The King".

The 80's style. Hypo-color T-shirts, fluorescent colors, big hair, Reeboks, stretch pants, parachute pants, sweaters with animals on them, side ponytails, pegged pants, tie-dye..... I could go on and on and on. Oh, the horror of it all. Let's talk about the 80's style.

Books. Books on philosophy, books on religious matters, fictional suspense books, true crime books, Oprah's Book Club books, made-into-movie books, romance books, sci-fi books, biographies, etc. Let's talk about books.

Halloween costumes. The one time a year I allow myself to dress like a prostitute and it's 100% socially acceptable. What's everyone dressing up as this year? What are your kids going to be dressed up as? Are these costumes being bought at a store? Online? Homemade? Let's talk about Halloween costumes.

Planet Earth. Either the show, or the planet itself. I bought Michael the BBC series called "Planet Earth" for his birthday. It's pretty awesome and explains SO much about how climates affect the animals that live there and things like that. Desserts, caves, the Arctic, oceans. Pretty much everything about the planet. It's really fascinating and now I have some new useless but interesting facts in my head. Let's talk about Planet Earth. Or the planet.

High school mascots. My high school mascot was a Colt. That's dumb. I always hated being a Cottonwood Colt. Was that the only mascot left that started with a "C"? I guess it could have been worse- I could have been a Cottonwood Cow. What was your mascot? Let's talk about high school mascots.

Value menus at fast food places. I hardly order from the value menus (I'm talking about things like that dollar menu at McDonald's and the like). But realistically, is the value menu food much worse than the rest of the menu? Like you can get a spicy chicken sandwich on the dollar menu, OR you can get a grilled chicken sandwich for full price. A little bit of a size difference and taste difference, but enough to spend an extra $3 on? I will, from now on, chastize myself for not ordering from the slightly less blase value menu food. Thoughts? Let's talk about value menus.

I'll stop for now as the above should give us plenty to talk about. For now, let's have a change of subject.

Much Love!

One Year Cheese

One year ago yesterday, September 21st 2007, I went to the Canyon Inn with some friends. My friend Travis had just quit work and we were having a "going away" party for him. I had been chatting with this guy online for a little bit and we decided to meet up. I emailed the guy and told him that I was going to be at the Canyon Inn with some friends and he should come up if he feels the urge. He emailed back and said that he would be there with some of his friends. I dressed for a mix of hanging out with friends, and taking it up a notch for a possible meeting of this new guy. My friend Katie came with me for the emotional support aspect of it. Some interesting and drama-related things had happened with someone in my group of friends so I was trying to avoid this person as much as possible. Katie and I grabbed some beers and went outside. I texted the guy to say that I was there, and he came over with two of his friends. We spent the rest of the night talking and laughing. I brought up all sorts of inappropriate conversation topics for just meeting someone, and yet he STILL stayed. I ended up forgetting completely about my friends that I had even gone there with. Where am I going with this? Well, that guy was Michael. Even though we had a bit of a break, yesterday was our 1-year anniversary. Though we weren't "together" the whole year, I'm taking it as an anniversary anyways. If nothing else, the anniversary of when we met. It's funny to think back to that night we met. He didn't think I was interested mostly due to the lack of eye contact. Now that he knows me, he understands that I'm just not good with eye contact at all. With anyone. He was wearing a white polo shirt, and I haven't seen him wear one since. I remember worrying that though I really liked him, I wouldn't like him as much once beer wasn't flowing through my veins. The very next day we went to the park and ate Blimpie sandwiches in his truck. He held my hand and my heart hasn't stopped pounding since. On our first official date, we went to Red Lobster. Anyone that can stand to be around me at Red Lobster scores major points. Crab leg shells flying, garlic butter dripping down my chin.... I'm not a feminine eater when you give me seafood. And the conversation flowed, he made me laugh, and there was genuine chemisty. He kissed me and the world stopped moving. And here we are a year later. I'm still flinging crab leg shells, he's still trying to make eye contact, and it works. We've had our moments. We've had our fights. But we are still here, still together. Still "Michael and Jessica". Happy Anniversary, Baby.

This Blog Is About Sex

I have a small admission of guilt. Not guilt in the guilty guilt way where I have hurt someone and feel bad. Nor is it guilty guilt where I have done something bad, a.k.a commited a crime. This admission of guilt is more of an automatic internal mind switch that clicks everytime a certain situation comes across my attention span. So this admission of guilt isn't me feeling guilty about anything, just admitting that I'm guilty of a particular thing. Make sense?

Are you ready for my admission of guilt? Are you sure? Drumroll please.........

Whenever I see a couple where the woman is pregnant, I imagine them having sex. Not in a "ooh, that makes me hot" kind of way. Just in a curious "I wonder if they are secretly kinky" kind of way. These thoughts do not affect me in any sexual way. They flit through my mind and then disappear. I don't dwell on the thought, nor do I want to. But honestly, it happens. I look at their faces, try to get a guage of their bodies, and wonder how many times it took. Or what the impregnating position was. Things like that.

I used to be baffled at my reaction- thinking that I was some sort of pervert for secretly imagining complete strangers naked. Until I realized that I'm not the only person in the world who does it. And then I kinda ran away from home (long story) and lived with 9 guys in a 2-bedroom apartment. We would wake up, smoke pot, watch porn, go to work, smoke pot on lunch, go back to work, smoke pot on the way home, and then once home- smoke pot and watch porn. Absolutely true story. And the absolute lowest point in my life. But at least it made me realize that the way that I imagined strangers naked in my mind was not related in the slightest to porn. When these "strangers having sex because they are pregnant" thoughts go through my head, it's never in detail and it's never dirty. It's loving. So that made me feel better.

And then I got older and my Kansas mom started talking to me openly about her sex life with my step-dad. Not dirty details, but generals. And then there came a point where even my dad talked to me a little bit about his sex life with my step-mom. The automatic reaction people have when thinking about their parents and sex is "gross!". Personally, I think it's sweet. My parents are only human. They are people themselves and though I refuse to dwell on it in detail, I think that my parents having sex is perfectly healthy and I'm glad that they do. And I honestly feel flattered that they feel comfortable enough with me to talk to me about such personal things- and that they know I'll give them my thoughts on the subject at hand without feeling akward about it.

I'm no virgin, that's for sure. But the older I get, the more important sex is becoming to me. By that I mean that I'm done with the selfish, unemotional sex. Been there, done that. Now I'm only interested in intimate sex with someone I care about. The way it's actually supposed to be. I know and understand the difference between someone loving my body and someone actually loving ME.

So I guess with all this sex talk, what it really boils down to is the following:

1- I'm actually a mature and stable adult now about my own sex life

2- Apparently I'm the one to go to if feeling the need to talk about your sex life

3- If you are pregnant, I will imagine you naked and having sex

Much Love!