I could take 19, what about you?

19

Finally feeling festive

I decided my first week back in July that an unpaid internship is probably the worst thing in the world. It's your first big 'job' where you are learning about computer programs you have to use and irritating people that don't return calls and you get in trouble for things you didn't even know you were doing wrong. I work my butt off at my practicum, and what do I get in return? The friendly reminder e-mails that paychecks are in for all the other people who actually get paid. I will never see a dime from this agency and I do just as much work as the rest of them.

Working for no money can make a person feel really crappy. Especially when it's holiday season and gifts are expected to be purchased for others. As the years have progressed, I have become increasingly poor (isn't is supposed to work out, oh... I dunno... the OTHER way?!?! Isn't a person supposed to make more $$ the longer they have been in school??? But I digress...). This year in fact, I'm more broke then ever and seriously considered canning Christmas altogether.

Things turned around this afternoon as I got a call from an overly-excited co-worker that the gifts for the severely under-served families I work with had in fact come in and I could in fact pick them up!!! I trotted to the office (I l'trally had a skip in my step) and arrived to a ginormous box full of HotWheels and books and board games and Barbies!!!! These families can barely afford rent let alone gifts for their 6+ children. It was like Christmas for me! So I scooted home and stopped by my neighborhood Rite Aid where I picked up ribbon, bows, labels and tape to get wrapping.

70+ gifts later my back is killing me and I'm exhausted, but it was all worth it. I got to spread a little holiday cheer and these families will be so appreciative, so much more thankful then I probably ever was or ever will be at Christmas. And even though I couldn't afford gifts for everyone I wished I could buy for, I (with the help of the county of Sacramento) gave the gift of Christmas to at least 2 families.

Now do you really need to buy that $200 sweater for the Aunt you talk to twice a year? Get off your fanny and go volunteer people!

Speaking of finals...

Feeling skinny at Christmas!

I attended my first holiday party of the season which was a delight. Now, I'm not at all the girl who makes absurd resolutions to lose weight at the start of the New Year, nor do I hold back on indulging in all things gravy/chocolate/wine during Christmas. I love Jesus, am glad he was born, and take pride in celebrating his birth, even if it is slightly self-serving. As I got ready for the festivities, my jeans were fitting just a little too tight... Thank goodness I had the host cat at the party to comfort me in my time of feeling obese.

You see, this cat is not what one pictures when one pictures a cat. This cat is HUGE. I think it's a combination of being a rescue cat/insane amounts of fur. It takes up an entire ottoman:



I intentionally left this picture the way it is. It's as if angels from above have been reincarnated into this little kitty's body and are shining through his eyes. Or perhaps, I can't figure out how to photo-shop the glare from the flash...

But anyways, as the party progressed, the cat and I became friendly and another party-goer cracked an awesome joke:

A seven and a nine year-old walk into a drug store and pick up a box of tampons. They proceed to the checkout where the clerk gives them an inquisitive stare.
Clerk: You boys buying these for your mom?
Boys: No.
Clerk: Your sister?
Boys: No. It said on the commercial if you use these you can play tennis and ride bikes, and our older brother's not very good at anything, so we're trying to help him out.



My reaction to the joke is evident from my classic smile (and those who are close to me can hear my laughter ringing in their ears simply by looking at this photo), such funny friends I have!!! By the end of the night, the cat was out like a light and I was toasty warm from my feline blanket.



The cat is practically as wide as I am! I'm as skinny as a cat!

That cat gave me the best Christmas gift ever.

Ever.

Please enjoy the turkey, thank you for removing your shoes

Ahhhhh, Thanksgiving. A time when our country finally embraces a few things we are good at: gluttony, football, and naps on the couch. This year was no exception, except that I discovered I was going to be 'forced' to celebrate this delightful holiday two days in a row. Now, now, calm yourselves! I managed to get through two rounds of homemade turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing, gravy, cranberries, and pumpkin pie. It was difficult, but I somehow made it through.

It was about halfway through my Thanksgiving hangover Friday morning when it occurred to me, "who celebrates Thanksgiving on Friday?" I was seriously questioning this when I realized... did I really care? These people were going to feed me, they didn't need a holiday to be nice! So I shoved these distracting thoughts aside and mustered up the courage to eat, once again.

Upon arrival to this strange 'Thanksgiving-on-Friday' place, I was instructed to remove my shoes, as pictured here.

It was a very nice house in Santa Barbara, you'll notice the shiny white stuff beneath my shoes; that's white marble baby, the real stuff. Not only was the floor white, the whole house was white, the walls, couches, pillows, everything. Ever flip through Martha Stewart's home-decorating magazines? Well... I don't either, but I imagine they're filled with ideas on how to "brighten your room with a white duvet," or "bring in the light with a white couch." I guarantee that white couch wouldn't last 2 weeks in my house before it had a giant smudge of chocolate across the center cushion. I avoid these things for a reason, and now I was in a house of white terror??? It takes me approximately 1.3 seconds to calculate the amount of damage my clumsiness + the black sole of my sneakers could do to such a fabulous surface.





So, I kindly obliged and switched to these hot kicks (which were provided by the host).






As the night unfolds, I begin to realize what type of people celebrate Thanksgiving on a Friday... weirdos.

Ok, so the shoe thing, yeah, kinda strange. But as the host proceeds to give me a tour of the house, her husband comes around the corner with a parrot.

Yes, a real-live parrot that talks and whistles and has those creepy bird eyes that look like they're about to fall outta it's head, the whole deal. I give the boyfriend a "now I see why you brought me to this place, you didn't want to be alone with these freaks" look and play nice guest.

We chat in the sitting room (gawd only knows if I will one day have enough money for a room with no other purpose then for me to sit in) and this crazy bird-loving husband starts gabbing about all sorts of things irrelevant to me. For instance Qui Tam, (which I originally thought was spelled Kui Tom, thank goodness for those brainiacs at Google 'Did you mean: qui tam?'). After re-reading Wikipedia's explanation, I still don't know what it means so you can only imagine how out of place I felt in the moment. Something to do with lawyer business, so the boyfriend kept him entertained. Alas, I at least had the familiar comfort of my red wine. Which initiates the thought process... what was I, the queen of clumsy, doing with a glass of red wine in a house made of white? I realize this while crazy male host is mid-qui tam sentence. Very slowly and very carefully I put the glass down, squarely on the coaster.

The conversation eventually makes it way back to the bird (and for my fellow MFTs out there, can I just say this poor parrot is being triangulated in this marriage like nobody's business) and all the 'tricks' it can do. Like, 'fly' across the room, getting it's nasty feathers all over the place and scaring the crap out of your guests, who intelligently placed their red wine down prior to take-off. And pretend it's a camera, leaning on tri-pods making strange noises. Oh, and did I mention, pooping constantly?? Which brings me to another thought... I had to remove my shoes to conserve your precious marble, but this bird can just take a dump wherever it pleases?

So, if you're invited to someone's home to celebrate a holiday that doesn't actually take place that day, keep in mind that the host family are probably a bit off in their conversation, pet selection, and home decor, just as they are in their day of celebration.

One ticket to the gun show please?

Last week was ridiculous. Between 3 lengthy papers, endless phone calls from auto financing sleaze-balls, work, and practicum, I was so ready for a break. And by break I mean a weekend of doing nothing, except laying in bed, eating lots of fattening food, catching up on Grey's Anatomy, and viewing all 3 of my Blockbuster Total Access wonders.

However, there were other things in store for me. My self-indulgent plans came to an abrupt halt when I got the call.

The Jude (AKA adopted mom) phoned Thursday afternoon to say she would be driving down (from Washington, where she is currently living) to spend the weekend.

As as in Friday through Sunday.

As in within the next 24 hours.

As in monopolizing my fantastic weekend of solitary aloneness.

Shaking my head in shock, disbelief and a hint of excitement, I prepared for her visit. This entailed cleaning the house (which meant I had to make my bed... something I never do) and other things you do when you find out mom's coming to visit. Like, stock your house with fresh groceries and throw out those Applebee's leftovers that have been sitting in your fridge for gawd knows how long so she doesn't give you that "I know I raised you better then that" look of judgment/disappointment when she enters your kitchen. And conveniently lay out all your school books and ratty shoes, showing her how hard you're working and how badly you need to go (i.e. she needs to take you) shopping.

6:45 Friday night, my phone rings, it's The Jude.


TJ: Hi, Shell? Um, I'm in Sacramento. I just got off the freeway, but I don't know where I am.

S: Ok, well... where are you?

TJ: Well, I got off on Richards... and now I'm in a parking lot, but there's no lights so I can't read the cross-street sign.

S: (Attempting to sound as caring as possible yet trying not to burst out laughing) Ok, well, why did you get off the freeway?

TJ: Well, I don't know, this was a bad idea, I shouldn't have done this!


10 minutes later I was able to calm her down and locate her at a gas station.

We got her checked in at her hotel and had a lovely dinner. She is a very sweet lady, kind and beautiful. She's a loving grandmother and a volunteer at her church (please keep this in mind as you read the next section).

As I dropped her off at her hotel later that evening, she continues to impress me with how surprising she can be.


TJ: You'll never guess what I have in the front seat of my car.

S: What?

TJ: A gun.

S: WHAT?!?! Why do you have a gun??

TJ: My son let me borrow it.

S: Why does your son have a gun???

TJ: Well, actually he has two guns.

S: Why on earth does he have TWO guns???

TJ: He hunts, everybody has guns in Washington. He gave it to me for protection on the drive.


Turns out there were no bullets in the gun (shocking, I know). From there our weekend was rather dull. I think the only way it could have increased with excitement is if she had a dead hitchhiker in her trunk. I mean, when your mom's got a gun, you know that's pretty much the peak of your thrills for a while.

At peace with the loss of Gina

Looking back at my previous blog, I realized what a complete psycho I sounded like, ranting and raving about the theft of my crappy car, and by crappy, I mean CRAPPY. I gave a slight amount of serious thought to the type of moron that would steal such a giant heap of trash, and this is the story I decided on...

Johnny P. Gangsta thinks he's 'hard', really 'hard'. He's 13, his parents are checked out (and by checked out I mean in prison, on drugs, deceased, etc.) so Johnny turns to his 'homies' for companionship. In order to be part of the Blood-family, Johnny must be jumped in. This entails his 'family' beating the crud out of him and him doing something completely ridiculous, like.... say.... steal a car.

So Johnny cruises around some middle class neighborhood, say... at-or-about 2 am on Friday October 19th, 2007, and sees a Honda Civic parked on the street. He jumps out of his 'homies' car and peeks in the Civic. He sees a decent CD player and decides this is the car he will bring back as proof that he is worthy to 'bang' (and no, I'm not making 'these' words up, this is what the kids I work with tell me). He does his car thieving thing (I have no idea what this entails) and speeds off, jamming to an awesomely bad country CD that was left in the player.

He returns to his gang buddies, car in tow, his face beaming with pride! Little does he know all that is wrong with the Civic:

-The tires are bald
-There is a giant crack spanning 3/4 of the windshield
-The front two windows, if fully rolled down, will not go back up without a near-20 minute fight
-The driver side visor flops down at random intervals
-She has 200,000 miles
-She needs a new timing belt
-She burns oil like nobody's business
-She just had new brakes installed!
-She makes this lovely clicking noise (in protest I assume) when she has to stop, especially if it's cold
-She hates hills and loves to overheat when she is forced to climb them
-If he pulls the car too far into one of those parking spaces with a curb, the front bumper will get stuck and subsequently fall off, making a complete fool of the person who has to reattach it to the car (this fool used to be me, no more!)

I have this great visual of the Bloods leader looking at Johnny with complete disappointment, "Tell me you did not bring that pile of crap in here, I'm not trying to drive no white ladies piece of crap!" (I do realize how completely unlikely this situation is, and that my car is probably in 300 or more parts, which are already on ebay to be sold across the country.)

So perhaps all of this was a secret blessing. Maybe there's a really bizarre gang out there that steals cars which are on the verge of death and they see their work as doing the world a favor, one crappy car at a time.

**Update on Gina: She has been found! Turns out she wasn't stripped totally naked, I'm glad to hear they kept the violations to a minimum. They took the stereo, speakers, and the front bumper, although I'm not sure that they intentionally took the bumper or it fell off as described above. Miss you girl!**

Unbelievable!

I hate paying bills. But there are many bills that serve an excellent, immediate, gotta-love-em purpose, including:
The cell phone bill which allows me to text my boyfriend while I should be paying attention in class.
The water bill which allows me to take extra-long showers for no other reason then to spoil myself.

There are however the bills that I cringe at when I see them in the withdrawal column on my bank statement. For instance:
Do I really need to pay my bank $2.00 every time I use a different ATM?
Do I really have to pay car insurance even though I haven't been in an accident in gawd knows how long??

I'm here to tell you, YES YOU DO! Pay your car insurance! Wanna know why??
Because even if you live in the safest friggin' neighborgood in your gawd forsaken city, you car can get STOLEN! Yes! Stolen! How do I know this? Because it happened to my Gina.

Little did I know, as I lazily watched Gray's Anatomy and tucked myself snuggly in bed last night that some good-for-nothing-scum-bag-of-a-retard would take my baby Gina. I've had Gina since high school! She was there with me through my super-awesome job at In&Out, made it all the way to Ohio State (and back) and was my best companion. She had just turned 200,000 miles, so proud of her!!

This morning I woke up, showered, breakfast (typical morning routine) and walked out my front door with a list of errands in hand ready to tackle the day. As I headed down my walkway, something was... wrong. I didn't see my car. The driveway (which my roommate parks in) is on the left and there's a giant bush (that our landlord refuses to trim and makes our house look like it would fit right in on the Discovery channel) on my right, so I thought Gina was simply hiding in the brush. But the further I walked toward the street, the more I realized that Gina was gone. "Where's my car?" I said to myself aloud, half-joking. And then I started to tremble, that weird feeling you get in your gut when you know something's off but your brain hasn't figured it out yet. I immediately called the boyfriend (the man of my dreams/legal advisor) and couldn't even form a coherent sentence. "I.. it's.. where's?.. I dunno, my car's gone, I think it got stolen." He gave me calm reliable instructions to call the city, police department, insurance company etc. (he's very handy in these situations). A few hundred phone calls later, my car is no where to be found.

THANKFULLY, I have full coverage insurance so I don't have too much to worry about (other then loosing one of my best friends) and may even get a snazzy new ride.

So, take the advise of your wise-old-friend Shelly, and pay your lame bills, because you never know when that irritating monthly fee will save your ass.

Here we go!

Blogs have always fascinated me. In fact, I greatly admire those who write them well. I am, unfortunately, not one of the select few who possess such a journalistic talent. BUT! Nonetheless I have decided to proceed in my adventure to fulfill others with the ridiculousness that is my life.

I hope you enjoy.