Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Ma'am Awkward = Me

 I have been practicing my "come hither" look. . .I need A LOT more practice! See!! Therein lies the problem, I thought I knew how to interact with the opposite sex, turns out I'm an idiot. . .cause I totally don't. Awesome.

Yep. Just call me Ma'am Awkward.

Once or Twice in my 23 years I have been referred to as a "flirt". On each occasion I resented the title and quickly dismissed it.

My how the times have changed! At this point I am thinking about creating a craigslist add searching for someone who will feed me false hope. Listen ladies this is a BIG DEAL, I have lost my ability to flirt. My "mojo" if you will.

I use to flirt with Boy all the time. Mostly cause he is handsome, and for sport, or to pass the time, but he's really quite the looker so it's probably more due to that then anything else.
See for yourselves. Boy = Beautiful
 But Boy and I have meandered out of the flirt-able land of friendship into something much more rigid. Not that it would matter because I can't do it anymore anyways. We really can't blame this on Boy. He is not responsible for my awkward-ness. Nope, I did that all by my lonesome. 

Really though, the other day I saw a guy looking at me in the produce section (I was mulling over a fruit purchase, I don't know what in the blazes he was doin' NOT buying produce, just sayin') Instead of smiling politely (because after all this guy wasn't hideous) I spastic-ally jerked my body around till I was facing a display of bananas and then galloped away like the ungraceful boar that I am.

"Believe me produce dude you dodged a bullet, because had you pursued me, you would have been destined for a life devoid of flirting, that and having to bandage me up each time I randomly awkward my way into an injury. No one has enough patience or band-aids for that."

I have been doing a little flirting research (sad, I know) and as far as I can tell girls just get lucky and men are just looking for the "pretties". I mean batting your eyelashes?? What is that?! 
You just look sleepy, or possessed.
Witty banter? Got none. Overwhelming good looks? Not likely. One of those dresses with the hoop skirts and built in butts? Yeah they stopped making those after Cinderella came out. 

Forget it. I give. This is what I have to offer:

Shock & Awe!

Holy Yes!

Let all those girls with their flirtation and lovely looks try and compete, the sad truth is that they just can't compare, because I am awesome. Yep I said it. I am an AWESOME flirt-less wonder. So there.

Ma'am Awkward Over and Out

*But just in case you have any pearls of wisdom to relate feel free to leave a comment below*

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Pearl Necklace

Okay, I am not normally one for the sappy story, but for reasons unknown my emotion level is at a record-breaking high. Which among other things (crying, stomping my feet, and tantrums of great proportion) has landed me thinking about this story that I received as a Miamaid

*fun side-note: The spell check on my computer really wants me to change Miamaid to mermaid, not gonna lie. . .I am very tempted to* 

at girls camp many moons ago (do not ask me how many moons ago because relating my age will most certainly bring on the water-works. Considering I haven't cried in a whole 92 minutes we don't want to do that). 
The Pearl Necklace

The cheerful girl with bouncy golden curls was almost five. Waiting with her mother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box.

"Oh please, Mommy. Can I have them? Please, Mommy, please!"

Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face.
"A dollar ninety-five. That's almost $2.00. If you really want them, I'll think of some extra chores for you and in no time you can save enough money to buy them for yourself. Your birthday's only a week away and you might get another crisp dollar bill from Grandma."
As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her penny bank and counted out 17 pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores and she went to the neighbor and asked Mrs. McJames if she could pick dandelions for ten cents.
On her birthday, Grandma did give her another new dollar bill and at last she had enough money to buy the necklace.
Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. She wore them everywhere--Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green.
Jenny had a very loving daddy and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story. One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?"
"Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you."
"Then give me your pearls."
"Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess--the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite."
"That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.
About a week later, after the story time, Jenny's daddy asked again, "Do you love me?"
"Daddy, you know I love you."
"Then give me your pearls."
"Oh Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my babydoll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper."
"That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you." And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.
A few nights later when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed her chin was trembling and one silent tear rolled down her cheek.
"What is it, Jenny? What's the matter?"
Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand up to her daddy. And when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver,she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you."
With tears gathering in his own eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to Jenny.

He had them all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up the dime-store stuff so he could give her a genuine treasure.

What are you hanging on to? 

Couldn't resist putting a picture of my beautiful Kellie-sister wearing her wedding pearls

 Sometimes having to let go of things we love can feel like an impossibility; it can feel like the end of the world. How lucky am I that all those years ago a leader received revelation to give me a story about a little girl? A little girl that it turns out is just like me. I can't remember that leaders name, or even what she looks like, but when I am saying my prayers tonight she is going to be at the top of my "I'm thankful for" list. So even though my heart is breaking it is not the end of the world right? Right.

Little Girl Over and Out

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Ghost Busted.

If you are ever home alone, while taking a shower and for no reason known to you the shower curtain (rod and all) fall completely to the floor, screaming like a ninny will NOT keep the hot air from escaping or the water from flooding your bathroom. It is a much better idea to quietly apologize to whatever ghost you disturbed with your singing and then quickly retrieve the rod and curtain and return them to their proper place.  

No matter how you handle the situation you must certainly will NOT be enjoying the rest of your shower. I suggest rinsing your hair and high tailing it out of there. 

Not that I would know from personal experiance.

But, if I did I would wonder what in tarnation is with my bathroom these days?!?!!! 

First a mouse and now I need to wear a hard hat to protect myself from all the falling debris while bathing?

Trick-y! That is it! I am going to cause a scene! Where is the man responsible for building this place?!!? . . .oh yeah *light bulb* that would be Dad. . .and Mom. . .and me. Poop. Bad plan.

On second thought, I can deal. I am like a baby, very resiliant. You could drop me right on my head, that won't phase me. So what if I got attacked by an invisible somebody while trying to condition my hair? No big. I can bounce back.

Who am I gonna call?
Not ghost busters.
Dang, now I am singing the theme song. . .blast.

Haunted Over and Out 

Thursday, September 22, 2011

The Late Night Visitor

Okay, so I think we have established that I live in the woods in a fort. 
This is still true, however I am not the only thing that lives in the woods in a fort because apparently a little brownish gray mouse does too. That's right people I had my first (crossing my fingers and any other body part that I can manipulate that it is my LAST) encounter with a rodent. EEeekk

That is not even the worst part (I know you are thinking how could it get worse?).

I have a cat. His name is Jules but mostly I just call him Meow. It is not the most creative name, I know, but it works. 
He woke me up, like he always does around 4AM last night and I got  up (angrily) and went to feed him. So I am sitting there (my spoiled little kitty likes me to sit with him while he eats) yawning and mentally cursing Meow's existence because I would much rather be sleeping. When all of  a sudden I see something scurry across the room! At first I naively hoped that it was just an abnormally large cricket, but alas my hopes were dashed instantly as the creature ran diagonally toward the litter box (which is the port-o-potty for it's arch nemesis, possibly this mouse knew that my cat is a worthless sack of fur and not to be frightened of his presence?)
I am momentarily tempted to stand on top of the toilet, but I have only been awake for 10 minutes and I fall over when I am not sleep deprived. . .better keep this little adventure on ground level. I was less aware of my cat's lazy attitude then our mousy visitor, so I shouted at him, "Cat you're a cat go and get the mouse! Go go go go!! Go get it!" then slightly less enthusiastically and a bit more confused, "Why aren't you moving? Caattt go get the mouse." 

This is Sir Lazybutt.

Thinks he fits anywhere, except ya know catching mice.

I am not actually throwing him away, he climbed in on his own. . .its not a bad idea though ;)

Bella Loves Meow. True Story.

She must not know about his worthlessness. She is still young, we can't blame her.

Not only did Meow fail to chase the mouse but he looked up at me bored, and yawned. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? Then he proceeded to walk to the front door and whine to be let out. So I told him in all seriousness, "You are the World's Most Unhelpful Feline. How could you leave me in here with that thing? Fine! Go! I don't need your help anyway." after I closed the door I mumbled, "I hope it rains on your lazy butt."

And it did, that is how I know God loves me! Winner! 

So I am standing there in my exercise room, peering into the bathroom with hesitancy. I figure I am an adult, I am hundreds of times bigger then this little mouse, I AM IN CONTROL HERE. So I did what any other adult who is larger than a mouse and in control would have done. . .I ran right up the stairs speedy quick and burst into my Mommy's room! I sat on the edge of her bed and related my terrible tale. 

*fun and interesting side note: Mom is completely terrified of mice! I mean big time! She is the woman who jumps on her chair and stays there all day long until her husband comes home to save the day. Interestingly enough my Dad is scared of mice too! She should have asked him about that before they were wed, just sayin'* 

Mom listens and says the only logical solution in times like these, "Let's have a slumber party in my bed!" (My dad had fallen asleep out in the living room watching some sci-fi lame-o show) I quickly take Mom up on her offer and I am about to pull back the covers and get in when I remember my teddy bear (whom I have had since I was 2) and my stuffed unicorn are all alone on my bed!! What if the mouse goes in my room? EEEeeewwwwww!! That is when I got up my courage ran like lightening down the stairs grabbed Teddy and Fluffy and hurled myself back up to Mom's room. 

All in all I have decided two things from this experience: 1. Dad is going to have to pull it together, realize he is the man, and take care of this situation. AND 2. If I could train a mouse to chase me while I am jogging I could shave 8 minutes off my fastest time (they bring out the Olympic Sprinter in me). 

This is not the only strange visitor to make an appearance at the fort! If you are in for another giggle go here and read my little sister's blog about the time a bat made its way into our living room. To this day when I need a pick-me-up I just ask Katie (who is 8 months pregnant) to imitate how a bat walks. Let me just say, "Holy preggo lady walking like a bat. Best. Thing. Ever!" No really, it's what dreams are made of. I promise.

At this point I am thinking about snagging an exterminator, I'll marry him and then never have to worry about little brownish gray unwanted guests again. It's either that or morph into a baby elephant and wear a hat in which the brownish gray mouse will ride around in and teach me to fly. Considering I CAN'T actually become Dumbo. . .I mean he's a boy! Gross! I guess I will start scanning the yellow pages for a man who is not afraid of a little mice-ness. 

Mrs. Exterminator Over and Out

Friday, September 16, 2011

School and other bits.

School started again. Without my permission and completely to my dismay. School is kind of a rude jerk when it comes to punctuality. Always right on time and never really wanted (not unlike the menstrual cycle).  

I would like to take this time to blame school for my lack of post-ege...who even has time for both I tell you?!!!?

But Friday = Freeday to NOT tell my dad that I have been sitting at this desk fake-doing-my-homework for the last three hours which is why I simply cannot revamp our file system. Can't do it. Big homework happenin' over here. 

WARNING: if you plan on using this excuse ever in your life remember to occasionally let out a helpless whimper and exasperated huffy breath. It adds to the effect. 

Taking pictures of yourself while fake-studying is a sure give away. Good thing Dad isn't too savvy.

Really though, to all my college going peeps, what is with each and every professor thinking their subject is the most important thing on the planet? We are talking more important then world hunger, peace on earth, good will to men (I am humming a Christmas song now...great). NEWS FLASH PROFESSOR STINKY-PANTS I have 4 other teachers who would love to fight you for the Center-Of-Cassies-Universe Award. Can I get an Amen?

I am going to start handing in disclosures with each of my first assignments of the semester. They will read:

Dear Teacher,
We are not friends, however I will pretend to like you if I think it will improve my chances of getting an A. I have a life. Nieces can not spoil themselves, you know. My cat is very high maintenece and needs ample amounts of both time and attention. Sometimes I like to nap in the middle of the day, a heavy homework load will make that an impossibility. Also, loaded reading assignments bum me out, I would prefer minimal reading. I know you have a heart because your skin is not all hard and crusty and you are clearly living. Please use said heart and give a sista a break.
Kisses, Cassie (i.e. your favorite student)

Okay, maybe not a good idea after all. 

In all seriousness though I think the reading should be substantially less. I mean if you had to pay over $100 bucks (which you must certainly did, because text books are more expensive then diamonds, BMW's, or adopting a child) then I'd say you are committed. You gave of your precious pennies, you shouldn't have to give of your precious sleep too. It's only fair. I voted, and you lost teachers.

This semester has brought out the bitter in me. It's a true story. The only teacher I can even stand for more then a minute is Ms. Kellie. She has pointy teeth and shiny shoes. Plus, I love to play with her hair. Yep, Ms. Kellie is awesome. She isn't actually MY teacher but she IS a teacher so it still counts. 

SIDE NOTE: My sisters are the BEST sisters.

College Student Over and Out

Craigslist Yoga Mat Listing *Must Read*

First off all the credit for this goes to Mr.
I also owe credit to a Mrs. Monica Casselberry for posting this to her facebook.

Lastly, this is the text my darling little Sis sent me: "Get on facebook. Go to Monica's page. Click on the yoga mat sale CraigsList link. Pee first, because if you don't, it may end up in your pants."

Alright my lovelies! Read and enjoy. Remember when you laugh you not only strengthen your abs you burn calories too :)

Yoga mat for sale. Used once at lunch hour class in December 2009. Usage timeline as follows:

Register for hot yoga class. Infinite wisdom tells me to commit to 5 class package and purchase a yoga mat. I pay $89.74. Money well spent, I smugly confirm to myself.

Open door to yoga room. A gush of hot dry air rushes through and past me. It smells of breath, sweat and hot. Take spot on floor in back of room next to cute blonde. We will date.

I feel the need to be as near to naked as possible. This is a problem because of the hot blonde to my left and our pending courtship. She will not be pleased to learn that I need to lose 30 pounds before I propose to her.

The shirt and sweats have to come off. I throw caution to the wind and decide to rely on my wit and conditioning to overcome any weight issues my fiancée may take issue with. This will take a lot of wit and conditioning.

Begin small talk with my bride to be. She pretends to ignore me but I know how she can be. I allow her to concentrate and stare straight ahead and continue to pretend that I don't exist. As we finish sharing our special moment, I am suddenly aware of a sweat moustache that has formed below my nose. This must be from the all the whispering between us.

Instructor enters the room and ascends her special podium at the front of the room. She is a slight, agitated Chinese woman. She introduces me to the class and everyone turns around to greet me just as I decide to aggressively adjust my penis and testes packed in my Under Armor. My bride is notably unfazed.

Since I do have experience with Hot Yoga (4 sessions just 5 short years ago) I fully consider that I may be so outstanding and skilled that my instructor may call me out and ask me to guide the class. My wife will look on with a sparkle in her eye. We will make love after class.

It is now up to 95 degrees in the room. We have been practicing deep breathing exercises for the last 8 minutes. This would not be a problem if we were all breathing actual, you know, oxygen. Instead, we are breathing each other's body odor, expelled carbon dioxide and other unmentionables. (Don't worry, I'll mention them later.)

It is now 100 degrees and I take notice of the humidity, which is hovering at about 90%. I feel the familiar adorning stare of my bride and decide to look back at her. She appears to be nauseated. I then realize that I forgot to brush my teeth prior to attending this class. We bond.

It is now 110 degrees and 95% humidity. I am now balancing on one leg with the other leg crossed over the other. My arms are intertwined and I am squatting. The last time I was in this position was 44 years ago in the womb, but I'm in this for the long haul. My wife looks slightly weathered dripping sweat and her eyeliner is streaming down her face. Well, "for better or worse" is what we committed to so we press on.

The overweight Hispanic man two spots over has sweat running down his legs. At least I think its sweat. He is holding every position and has not had a sip of water since we walked in. He is making me look bad and I hate him.

I consider that if anyone in this room farted that we would all certainly perish.

It is now 140 degrees and 100% humidity. I am covered from head to toe in sweat. There is not a square millimeter on my body that is not slippery and sweaty. I am so slimy that I feel like a sea lion or a maybe sea eel. Not even a bear trap could hold me. The sweat is stinging my eyeballs and I can no longer see.

This room stinks of asparagus, cloves, tuna and tacos. There is no food in the room. I realize that this is an amalgamation of the body odors of 30 people in a 140 degree room for the last 55 minutes. Seriously, enough with the asparagus, ok?

140 degrees and 130% humidity. Look, bitch, I need my space here so don't get all pissy with me if I accidentally sprayed you with sweat as I flipped over. Seriously, is that where this relationship is going? Get over yourself. We need counseling and she needs to be medicated. Stat!

150 degrees and cloudy. And hot. I can no longer move my limbs on my own. I have given up on attempting any of the commands this Chinese chick is yelling out at us. I will lay sedentary until the aid unit arrives. I will buy this building and then have it destroyed.
I lose consciousness.

I have a headache and my wife is being a selfish bitch. I can't really breathe. All I can think about is holding a cup worth of hot sand in my mouth. I cannot remember what an ice cube is and cannot remember what snow looks like. I consider that my only escape might be a crab walk across 15 bodies and then out of the room. I am paralyzed, and may never walk again so the whole crab walk thing is pretty much out.

I cannot move at all and cannot reach my water. Is breathing voluntary or involuntary? If it's voluntary, I am screwed. I stopped participating in the class 20 minutes ago. Hey, lady! I paid for this frickin class, ok?! You work for me! Stop yelling at everyone and just tell us a story or something. It's like juice and cracker time, ok?

It is now 165 degrees and moisture is dripping from the ceiling. The towel that I am laying on is no longer providing any wicking or drying properties. It is actually placing additional sweat on me as I touch it. My towel reeks. I cannot identify the smell but no way can it be from me. Did someone spray some stank on my towel or something?

Torture session is over. I wish hateful things upon the instructor. She graciously allows us to stay and 'cool down' in the room. It is 175 degrees. Who cools down in 175 degrees? A Komodo Dragon? My wife has left the room. Probably to throw up.

My opportunity to escape has arrived. I roll over to my stomach and press up to my knees. It is warmer as I rise up from ground level - probably by 15 degrees. So let's conservatively say it's 190. I muster my final energy and slowly rise. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. Towards the door. Towards the door.

The temperature in the lobby is 72 degrees. Both nipples stiffen to diamond strength and my penis begins to retract into my abdomen from the 100 degree temp swing. I can once again breathe though so I am pleased. I spot my future ex wife in the lobby. We had such a good thing going but I know that no measure of counseling will be able to unravel the day's turmoil and mental scaring.

Arrive at Emerald City Smoothie and proceed to order a 32 oz beverage. 402 calories, 0 fat and 14 grams of protein -- effectively negating any caloric burn or benefit from the last 90 minutes. I finish it in 3 minutes and spend the next 2 hours writing this memoir.

Create Craigslist ad while burning final 2 grams of protein from Smoothie and before the "shakes" consume my body.

Note to self - check car for missing wet yoga towel in am.


Wish-I-Were-His-Bride Over and Out

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Mind Vomit

Alright, it's time to clear the ol' noggin.

I have an excess of garbage up in this head of mine so I am gonna throw it up right here and right now. Here goes nothing:

*I hate that Boy is gone. (My soul hasn't stopped crying all day. . .my soul is an ugly crier, just for the record)

*School = crap. Yep I am reverting back to the 12-year-old me who was sick every day of the week apart from Saturday and Sunday.

*It's hot in here but when I turn on the fan, I can hardly hear myself think cause it's so dang loud.

*I am convinced that my head is going to explode. I hear that allergies are going around. Hey Allergies "go around" somewhere else cause you are pretty much the bane of my existence.

*I am not sure when, but my cat must have taken a Annoy-Every-Living-Thing-I-Come-In-Contact-With pill. Cause WHOA BUDDY has he gotten obnoxious?!?!! 

*I think I am losing my muchness. . .if you don't know what I am talking about stop reading this and go watch Alice In Wonderland you loser.

*I love being a nanny.

*What is with the over abundance of grasshoppers this year? Speaking of grasshoppers, why exactly do they get to jump great lengths AND fly. . .ummm one or the other bug. Pick. Greedy little jerk. 

*Let's not forget the grasshoppers cousin the cricket which there are approximately 1 million of in my bathroom.  Every time I go in there with a shoe for the sole purpose of a mass murder I can't find a single one. HELLO I can hear your chirp chirp chirping! Crickets = masters of disguise. 

*I really need to wash my car. 
*When I asked my dad to bring home bolt cutters from the shop a few days ago I imagined the smallish not intimidating kind that look similar to pliers, he brought home some massive jaws-of-life contraption that takes the leverage of my entire body weight to manipulate. Yep all to cut down some decorative knobs. . .aren't dads cute? 

*Every time and I mean EVERY time I kill myself trying to complete a reading assignment in preparation for an exam the test is either deemed "take home" or canceled completely. I kid you not. True story. 

*Pretty much every girl in the world is having cute babies with their handsome husbands, every girl but this girl. Yep, that's the jealousy talkin'

*I should invest in a level, most if not all of the things hanging on my walls are at least slightly crooked. It's just sad. 

*I hate when people call me loud. Is that really fair considering that I AM actually loud?! Today when my brother told me to quiet down because I was disturbing the martians on Mars (as if I didn't know where the MARtians lived?) I secretly called him bad names inside my head. That happened. 

*I am clearly in need of sleep, and perhaps therapy. 

Empty-Minded Over and Out