Chaos, Muppets, and Utter Insanity

For those who haven't noticed, lately, I have been very stressed.

I, generally, like plans.  They make me feel like I have some sense of control.  Plans keep me calm. 

Lately, most of my "plans" don't work out.  People are wishy washy, other things come up, or I'm just plain forgotten.

This has gotten to me, but I stick by my friends who I can depend on, like a certain someone I wind up texting at least ten thousand times a day. 

*ahem*

So, I had gotten to the point where I was okay with not going across the country to visit anyone or meet my boyfriend's family.  I was disappointed, but fine.

Then, suddenly I had tickets and I was going.  We just figured out TODAY how we will be getting to the plane TOMORROW.

As it turns out, I handle disappointment a heck of a lot better than I handle miraculously getting my way like I wanted to begin with... after accepting said disappointment.   I don't know if it's that going through that mourning process for nothing bothers me, or if I have this underlying assumption that the good thing will just go away again... or what.  Either way, it is devastating and I don't know what to do with myself when it happens.  Especially lately.

Everything about this is making my heart try to escape my body.

After the accident, I sort of bottled everything.  ...apparently.  I didn't notice I was doing it.  I'd say "Hey, lets talk about it."  He'd say, "Of course."  ...And then I'd, like, forget... or something. ... I don't know.

Either way, finally, with the trip coming up and me totally unprepared and over thinking things and everything at the boiling point... I had a bad dream, and it set me over the edge. 
It got to the point where I was no longer able to make coherent thoughts that were anything other than hateful or depressing.

I went from screaming at him (probably not really, but it felt like I was screaming to both of us),

to sitting in a horrible bubble of pathetic depression, hysterical sobbing, and worthlessness,

to finally just wrapping myself in blankets and losing my mind.

...My boyfriend is amazingly patient.  While I certainly find him frustrating from time to time, I have to give him credit for sitting this whole thing out.

Also, rarely will one find someone who is willing to pretend the whole thing never happened, just because you say, "Hey, lets pretend I didn't just act like a crazy person."

So, then we went on part of a planned date! 
I say part, because the original intent was to see Sherlock and the Muppets movie.  I was very excited to see the Muppets. 

We went glow-golfing instead, which is also something I've been wanting to do since moving here. 

It was awesome.

Black light glow golf.

Yeah.

And I rocked.

But, we didn't have time to see the movie.  Either movie. 

Every time I fail to see the Muppet movie, I feel like I'm breaking Kermit's heart.

 This is especially disheartening because "Muppeteer" was on my list of dream careers, even as a kid.  It was right up there with "rock star" and "Xena".

My text-buddy promises that she and I will see it, especially since she conveniently lives in the area I'm now flying to see. 
...So... Chaos is finding order in itself.  She understands my need for a plan, and her boyfriend understands where my boyfriend is coming from, so it has helped to talk to them both. 

...I just heard breaking noises followed by giggling men.  ...Wat?

And that is the life I currently live.

EDIT:  The "breaking" was apparently more of a "pop".  Is that better?

...Housemate says, "I could have died."


SECOND EDIT:  It's okay guys!  I have seen the Muppets!  The rightful order has been restored!  ...And my favorite muppet, Crazy Harry, was actually in a significant number of scenes!!!

Glue

Oh god.  Oh god.  Super glue all over my left hand.

On the bright side, I fixed my glasses.

On the down side, whenever I wear my glasses from here on out, my nose will be touching an ex-piece of my thumb's dead skin.

How am I typing this, you ask?  No, not one handed.  I managed to rip my fingers apart. 
They were glued together and to my glasses.
...Now I just can't feel anything past the layers of glue.


This is why I can't be an adult.


*picking at it*
UGH something just snapped off and hit me in the face!
...Please let it have been a hunk of glue...

Oh good!  No blood!
Yay!

...It's so... grainy... Ugh.

This may actually be the most uncomfortable feeling in the world that does not involve pain.


Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhguk

I hate everything about what is happening on my fingers.

...As I just told a friend, it's really the piece of ...myself... forever attached to my corrective eye-wear that disturbs me more than anything. 

Needs me some nail polish remover...

Huh.
Seems to be exfoliating my skin. 
I wonder how incredibly unhealthy this is.

EDIT:  Half an hour later, I seem to have gotten it off.  ...And my skin is all smoooooth underneath.  This would have been much easier with some nail polish remover.  Also, having one's nail glued to the finger in an area of the nail not usually attached in such a manner is rather unnerving.

Traveling, Communication, and Sponges

Moving across the country was a wonderful idea.  My health is better, the weather is nicer, I'm less afraid of walking because I don't feel like I'm going to get stabbed...

There is only one real issue with moving across the country.

Some of my shit and the people I like are mostly still on the opposite side of said country.

Now, my mother and I have email and phone conversations... And those are actually a lot of fun.  It's not so much what she says as how she says it.  First of all, the woman doesn't use periods as punctuation.  It is almost always an exclamation mark.  As a result, I can't help but read whatever she is saying in a very excited manner. 

Example:

Yes, all of my packages come with hand-written notes and the Sunday comics.  Jealous yet?  It's okay.  I know you are. 

My mother is the embodiment of cute. 

When I was a kid, I had a thousand food allergies (still do), and so I always brought my lunch to school, even into high school.  I had some kick ass lunch boxes featuring Batman, Beetlejuice, The Crow... Lots of things.  My favorite, however, was a plain metal lunch box. 

Why?

Because my mother would write notes to me in magnetic poetry.  I'd then try to send messages back using the same words.  It didn't always make sense, but I'd wind up with people crowded around me, all trying to assist. 

In any case, when it comes to communicating with my friends, I spend a lot of time online and texting in a somewhat failed attempt to keep contact.  I have one friend who I have begun sending packages to, and I hope that becomes a thing.

As for texting... I look silly whilst texting.
I wind up either melting into the seat or trying to dive into the phone.

SO!  Holidays are coming, and with Consumerism Day fast approaching, my boyfriend and I have decided to spend possibly a month on the other side of the country. 

The issue? 

...My boyfriend lives a very busy life, we both get flustered fairly easily, and he has no concept of foresight or planning in an effort to live in a "just in case" lifestyle.  For example, we didn't buy plane tickets a month ago when they were cheaper, just in case... something.  I don't know.  I'd like to believe that he had a rational explanation.
Or, at least, that he thought his reasoning was rational.  That's really all I ask at this point.

 Plans keep me like this:

Even stupid plans.  At this point, he could tell me, "Honey, we are gonna swim there!" and I'd be like, "YAY a PLAN!!!  WOOOOO!  Let's do this!"

Without a plan, I wind up like this:

And then like some horrible stress-made Katamari, I roll around collecting everyone and everything in my path.
Whoops, now that little screaming woman is kicking her legs and stressed out, because she is stuck in my Katamari-stress ball.  Whoops... There goes a sheep.

Like a terrible buddy comedy from too many years ago, we were making calls and trying to figure out if we are going to spend a lot of money and three days on a train, spend a lot of money on a plane, or drive... forever.

Because I suck at being an adult, I don't drive, so I can't help him with that last part.  I'd love to magically get over this whole thing, but Fate is a silly mistress.
The moment I got REALLY EXCITED about the prospect of driving, I got smooshed.  You can read "The Birthday Bashing" for more details there. 
I've been a little wary about drivers where I live since the 17th of November, due to that.  Horror stories haven't helped any.
"OH MY GOD drivers here are AWFUL!"
"You haven't got your license yet?  Well, good luck getting it here!  I mean, yeah, anyone can get one here, but that's the problem.  The moment you drive and you don't know what you're doing, DEAD."

Gee.  Thanks guys.

As for a train, that would be neat!  Like an adventure!  We could sing songs about traveling out East while I learn about myself enough to get the confidence I need to make a good impression on his family!  We'd have three damn days to do this, so why not?  Why not??  Because I have no money.  It's expensive. 

The last thought... The easiest, fastest, also pretty insanely expensive just because it's so late thought...  Is flying.

Morally, I can not bring myself to ask my parents for more money.  No.  I'm an adult.  I've been looking for jobs and everything, like a real adult-type person.
So, in order to make it so I can possibly see his family or mine or any of my friends, I've decided to cut down on some expenses.  (And cry hysterically in a corner about a $600+ charge I didn't know would happen from a car rental that went on far too long.)

I've also decided to see if I can save up for a trip to Aruba by July.  His friends are getting married then, and I figure if he gets sick of me before July, I can still go to Aruba.  Either way, I'm going to try to do that some how.  If I fail, no real harm.  If I succeed, maybe I can stop mooching off of my family like some horrible 26 year old leech wearing a Batman shirt.

This is what I look like in my head when I ask my parents for money:

 Apparently I can't draw a leech so much as I can draw a worm from Tremors or Dune... But you get the idea.
...And still, I find common earthworms a thousand times more terrifying.  Phobias are stupid.

Anyway, mostly, saving money means not really eating anymore. 
However, that is only because we eat out a lot and I don't really know how to cook anything.  The stove is about as frightening to me as the talking toilet in those "Look Who's Talking" movies. 

I assume I'm going to burn myself and die.

Or burn the house down and get yelled at.

EDIT: I've been told that my never-been-used-but-bought-in-2004 crock pot will be sent to me.  YAY!

The other issue with going on this hypothetical-yet-happening-in-three-days trip with my boyfriend is the prospect of coming back alone.  While I occasionally can hop onto a train just like I used to when I was younger, and feel proud, these days... Not so much.  I'll be ecstatic once its all over, but there is always this hint of a panic attack looming around the corner, waiting to pounce.  As stupid as my little irrational fears were when I was a little kid, the ones they developed into seem to be worse, and affect my life in a more negative way. 


Either way, he's pretty sure we'll get there.  ...Soooo sure.  Fine.  We'll see. 


...As for other very silly things that have terrified me over the years...

As a child, I had a lot of very irrational fears, as you may have noticed from other blog entries. 

The stupidest, I think, was the fear of a sea sponge due to an episode of "Goosebumps".  I looked it up.

It was called "It Came From Beneath The Sink!", and it scared the shit out of me. 
I had loved the books, and so watching the tv show seemed like a good idea.  I remember watching a couple episodes at a friend's house.  This one was one of them.  That same evening, (probably just that same week, really... but shh) my mother came back from a cruise.  Excitedly, she showed me what she had bought for herself.
It was a sea sponge, and it looked just like that fucker from the show.

In my mind, it WAS that fucker from the show.

As such, I refused to go anywhere near the tub until my mother removed it.
Even while peeing, I would eye that bastard suspiciously, assuming that it was just waiting for me to look away. 

This is all especially stupid because I loved horror movies, haunted houses and I OWNED the whole Goosebumps book series.  It's just that random things would hit me funny and stick in my weird little child brain, sitting there, taunting and harassing me for years.

These days, I do not have such an issue with sponges, although I occasionally do have issues watching Spongebob.
I find him exceptionally creepy... but I doubt that has much to do with that episode of Goosebumps.

The Tooth Fairy

This tale explains how much trouble both of my parents will go through just to make me happy.  As much as I've given them a hard time (like most children), I actually do appreciate the ridiculous nonsense of things my parents did for me, such as the Tooth Fairy. 

See, for me, the Tooth Fairy didn't leave money.  No no.
The Tooth Fairy left presents. 
How did he or she accomplish this?
Was it through some magical, fairy means?
Oh ho, my friend.  I'll tell you. 

Flat things.

Whenever one of my poorly designed teeth finally gave up and fell out, I would get a new sketchbook, or sometimes a puzzle or a book...  Flat things.

The puzzles were freaking awesome.  I remember one of Dracula, one of The Toxic Avenger, one of the cartoon of Beetlejuice (it's Lydia and Beetlejuice riding a skateboard and it's so awesome that I had the thing permanently glued into a mini poster!), and even one of ballerina troll dolls. 

I loved all these things as a child.  And, for the most part, I still do today.  ...Except for maybe the trolls.  ...I was sort of obsessed with collecting those freaky little smiling bridge dwellers. 

I had at least a hundred of them.  They were slowly given away and sold at garage sales over the years. 

...However, I did still keep a few.  I kept ones that had traveled with me, and special costumed ones of things I still love.  One is dressed as an Egyptian, for example.  They are mostly in storage now, but... quite frankly so is a lot of my crap.  When I have room to display everything (or I'm just finally at the point where I'm ready to give up some more children's toys) then I'll proudly get them out of storage.

On a somewhat related note, I was never a big collector of beanie babies, but I did wind up with (and still have) some of the cooler ones.  I have the platypus, a ghost, a scorpion...  You know... Ones like those.

Oh oh!  Quick other story of my mom being awesome! 
One year, for Halloween, my mom made a costume for me that to this day is still the most fantastic costume that I ever had. 

I was a vampire troll.

I had fangs, puffed up, black troll hair, Mom did my make up in a troll-like fashion...  She cut a costume out of felt-like fabric that totally resembled something my troll actually wore...  For the feet, I wore pink tights over my sneakers and she drew freaking toes onto the tights. 

I was awesome.

In any case, back to the Tooth Fairy.

Usually, my mom took care of "contacting the Tooth Fairy" whenever I lost a not-so-pearly white.
This time, I had a loose tooth that was ready to exile itself from my head when my mom had to leave for a trip.  I don't remember where she went, but I'm sure it was lovely. 
Either way, she made sure that the Tooth Fairy was prepared. 

I went to sleep, head on pillow, content in the knowledge that I would still get a wondrous flat present for my tooth. 
I heard a thump, and awoke.

See, my room was never particularly clean.  These days, I actually have the ability to become frustrated at my own mess and take care of it.  Then?  Not so much.  I had two big defenses for this.  A: I don't go by "do as I say, not as I do", so until my parents cleaned THEIR room, I wasn't doing shit.  B: this way I would be awoken to an intruder.

Case in point:
I turned to see my father, in his sleep attire (which was pretty much just his underwear and T-shirt), holding a piece of paper, whilst sporting a very panicked "oh shit" expression, staring at me like a deer in headlights.

"Uh... Yes Dad?"  I had kind of always known that the Tooth Fairy was actually my parents.  Now I just knew that it was primarily my mother's job.  Clearly, this poor man was out of his element.

He handed me the piece of paper.

I wish I could draw out the whole thing, but my handwriting is not nearly as nice as my mother's.  In fact, my dad, my sister and I all have almost the same handwriting.  My mom's is the only one that is perky and legible and perfect.  Her handwriting matches her personality well.  Meanwhile, my father and sister are both left handed, so not only are their writing styles very difficult to read, but they also lean the opposite way like some freaky, mirror language.  ...and mine is just a scrawl with no real excuse.  I'd say "oh, I have that deformity in my wrist, remember?" but really, there's no reason.  You, as my audience, get to see my neatest handwriting in my little illustrations.  My neatest.  Yeah. 

SO!  The letter said something to the effect of "I am sorry that I could not make it for your tooth just yet, but I have sent your father to give you this letter for me, in my absence." (Did she KNOW he wouldn't be able to accomplish this task, or what?) "Instead, take this as an I.O.U., and I will be sure to give you a gift soon!" 

First of all, the letter took up a whole page, so it was actually much longer and more in depth than that.  That's just the gist. 

Secondly, all the periods were little teeth like this:

Yeah.  My mom wrote a letter AS THE FREAKING TOOTH FAIRY and my father tried (and somehow failed, but it's okay... he means well) to hand deliver it to my pillow. 

What can I say?  My parents, in their own strange, collective way, have always been problem solvers.

For example, my parent's den was crooked. 
Like, it sank into the middle.
I once told a friend that there were dead bodies under the floor, and as they decomposed, the floor sank in.  For all I know, that may have been true.

So, I grew up with books and such crammed under lamps and furniture in an attempt to ignore the fact that our den was crooked. 

This was the only part of the house that did this, and eventually my parents had the floor re-done so it was no longer an issue. 
Still, for my whole childhood, I debated if a slinky would move across the den floor on it's own.

Anyway, I remember playing along with the idea of a tooth fairy for a while after getting that letter (that was all too suspiciously in my mother's handwriting), thinking that my parents would be depressed if they knew that I knew.  ...I was also probably afraid that I would no longer get presents for losing teeth.

Considering all the work that's gone into my face dentistry-wise at this point, that was probably a silly fear.  My two front teeth are dental implants.  The two on either side both have caps because everything was moved over by one, after both of my lateral incisors were removed.  ...And so, my parents are STILL helping me feel better about losing my teeth, to this day.

Videos to Tide You Over

I'll have a real post at some point.  Maybe tonight.  ...For now, here's some videos.

First off, we have the newest animation.  It's very short and has no background.  It's a test for a film my friend Dora and I are working on.  It will be cute and creepy and lovely. 
Mr. No video! Click! It's cute!
His name is Mr. No, and he protects the children at the park.


Next up, we have the only Deddrie animation ever.  It's uncolored and needs a lot of fixing up.  I have two other ideas for animations... but I hope to understand computers and the concept of only drawing a background once before I attempt either of them.
For now, you get this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEr3xi3eMsA



And of course, Dr. Pheesh.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJ8qIPEJxkA
This one is one of those videos I will keep forever for the sole purpose of showing the future husbands, wives, and children of everyone who let me film them in this piece of crap.  There are three of them total.  Yep.

How Minor Speech Impediments Make Snakes Terrible, and The Reason I Stopped Watching Barney

Recently, my 17 years old, decrepit, and not particularly functional cat Jackie was put to sleep.  
It was for the best.  
She was no longer happy or healthy.  
I'm sure she will rule kitty heaven with an iron paw.

Back in the day, she was playful, had ear mites, and in general was just a strange and adorable all black short hair.

When we got her, I was on the look out for a fluffy white cat, so I could name him or her Gabriel like the cat in The Crow.  

I was that kid.  
Yeah. 

But I found Jackie.  
I had heard stories of an orange cat named Pumpkin from before I was born, and I decided that since when I draw Jack O' Lanterns, the eyes, mouth, and nose are black, this black cat would be named accordingly.  

Basically, I named this cat after a cat I had never even met.  
It didn't even occur to me that she was a "Halloween" cat, but that would have made significantly more sense.

There are three other things you should know for this story.  

One, my sister loves all things snake related.  
We always had a snake or two.  
Being not a fan of worm like things, I was not particularly fond of snakes, but they didn't really bother me much at the time.  

They were just creepy green worms with heads.

Between this day and the time when my mom got bitten on the face by one of them, I'm not so keen on snakes now.  
My mom was fine.  

I was bothered.  

Years later, the Sandworms of Beetlejuice are fine... so that's a start, right?

Another thing you should know is that my bed was on the ground.  I had a box spring, a mattress... and that was it.  

This was my choice.

The idea was that my closet monsters were good, but my under-the-bed monsters wanted to eat my feet.  
Specifically. 

Eat my feet. 

So, I had the bed right on the floor to keep the monsters at bay/suffocate them horribly.

Lastly, I had a lot of trouble speaking as a kid.  
I had been almost entirely deaf until about four years old.  
It was just fluid in my ears, but I needed tubes twice, because the first time didn't work. 

So, a minor ailment that many people have did exactly what one would expect it to do to a child learning language early on.  

One day, I was awakened by Jackie mewing. 

 It was kind of annoying as I was trying to sleep, so I got up, picked her up and took her out of my room. 

After plopping her on the ground, I went back to bed. 

A few moments later, she was back, mewing even louder.  I tried to ignore her. 

Finally, I got up to get her out of my room again, knowing that this time, I'd shut the damn door.

Then, I realized that my head felt rather heavy.

The snake had gotten out of her tank and wrapped herself in my hair.  

She flew out of it when I ran the Hell out of my room screaming, "SNAKE IN HAIR!  SNAKE IN ROOM!  SNAKE IN HAIR!"  

No one had any idea what I was talking about, understandably.  

Still, I remember being quite frustrated.  

Eventually, I took my mother by the hand and dragged her to my room to show her the snake, who was happily slithering all over everything I ever owned. 

The snake's tank had velcro holding the top on from that day forward. 

...

As for Barney, this was another case of my poor communication skills, coupled with my very loose grasp of reality as a child.  Sure, having a vivid imagination is one thing, but not when it is horrifying. 

I loved Barney.  I had the doll and everything.  I think I liked that he was purple and green.  Years later, I developed a love for T-rexs, and I wonder how much of that is because of that dinosaur. 

One day, Barney was drinking a glass of "milk".
I felt very smart, knowing that there was nothing actually in that cup.

It was only pretend milk.
Knowing this, somehow the next part was not rationalized in a better way. 

In drinking, Barney tilted his head up towards the lights.  You could see the person inside of Barney, through the black mesh of his mouth. 

Instead of thinking, "Oh no!  Barney is just a dude in a suit!!  Childhood over!"  
I ran around the house, frantic, believing that it was of the utmost importance that I let everyone know Barney's dark secret.

Barney eats human beings. 

As though warning of the British arriving, I said "Barney ate somebody!  Barney ate somebody!"

I was told not to watch that show anymore.  I didn't argue. 
I even got rid of my doll, because it was forever on creepy to me. 

There was also an incident while watching the Ghostbusters cartoon.  

I loved that show... but when I was just a hair too young, there was something about ...a giant... ghost... chicken?  

Apparently, I was terrified of chickens.  
I don't know.

All I know is that I wound up running around the house screaming "BIG SCARY CHICKEN!  BIG SCARY CHICKEN!" because three word phrases are all I could ever muster whilst in a panic caused by television.  
 ...Or snakes in my hair. 

 

In all fairness, I still kinda hate chickens.

On Mornings and Happy Depressions

Technically, I'm a morning person.  I wake up without an alarm, unless I'm sick.  When I don't have something to do, I often spring out of bed, wide awake. 

This causes me to get ready and feel really accomplished...

Until I realize that I have nothing to do.

Meanwhile, when I do have something to do, like class...

There is also a third option, now that I've moved.  We have people come over randomly, without so much as a phone call.  I also have a boyfriend who had no concept of foresight or planning.  Now, if I were a friendly person, this would not be a problem.  At all.  ...But I'm not...  At all. 

As such, this is a typical situation:

In reality, these people are generally very nice.  We just have a poor system of communication in my house. 
In fact, some of "these people" are actually my friends.  I just don't do well when startled.  

Like, at all. 

I smile, nod, and sit there trying to make polite conversation, but then I feel drained.  It's left over bits and pieces from a social anxiety.  Give me an office and/or an appointment, and I'm awesome.  Show up and startle me, and I'm just a heap of unhappy.
So, I wind up feeling drained.  Emotionally drained, for no real reason.
As a result, once someone else comes home, I tend to retreat to my bedroom to try to get that private awesomeness I wanted to begin with.  Sometimes, this will last for days and wind up a strange sort of happy depression.

A "happy depression" is the only way I can really title it. 
I go for sometimes a week or so not wanting to leave my room or get dressed or do anything productive other than art-related crap...  But I'm very content. 
I don't want to hang out. 
I don't want to deal with anything ever.
I think about dropping out of school forever (I won't.  Chill.)
I think that I could some how magically draw for a living and just sit there doing what I love instead of ANYTHING ELSE, even fun things.
From the outside, this looks like a bout of depression.
From the inside, I question if it is one. 
But...  I'm pleased. 

These are the days where I either get up at the crack of dawn, or I get up around noon. 

See, there is also this issue of time, when it comes to mornings. 

The hour I wake up has a lot to do with how that day will go and feel.

Sometimes, when I wake up too early, I think, "Awesome!  I can go back to bed for a couple more hours!"

This is terrible.  It never ends well, and yet... I do it all the time.  It's like a dog repeatedly running into an electric fence.  ...Why?  Why do I do this to myself?  Do I think it will suddenly change?

What happens is, first, I can't go back to sleep until I go to the bathroom.  I try to trick myself sometimes into not fully waking up, by not turning the lights on, or not entirely opening my eyes:

But I'm always kind of awake when I get back.  So, I'm either too awake and thus can't go back to sleep, which is better...

Or I go back to sleep, and my body treats it like a nap.

My body hates naps.

Sometimes, I wake up too late (even when I have nothing to do, there is a "too late" around 2PM) and feel like an utter failure. 

Or, sometimes, I wake up at the time I wanted to be up... and then I'm just miserable.  I feel like I've not gotten enough sleep.  Like all that sleep before just doesn't matter and is completely replaced by the two or three hours that just happened.

Getting up in the morning is often helped by my determination to get my boyfriend awake.
He actually has shit to do, and would rather sleep for half the day.
So, I get up in order to pester him relentlessly. 
He's thankful, but he also seeks vengeance in his own way...

He also occasionally makes horrendous noises in his sleep that make me think he is dying and/or possessed.

The Birthday Bashing

I have a tendency to be very dramatic when the situation does not call for it at all, and then not dramatic enough in times of crisis. 

Some examples:
When washing dishes:

When out of chocolate:

When hair comes out in the shower:

When the lights go out during a storm:

But, recently, I had an incident where I should have responded more dramatically, and I didn't.

At all.

It was my birthday.
It started out great!  My (at the time) boyfriend took me to the zoo!!
I was ecstatic.  We saw everything.  There was a Bengal tiger, a freaking jackal, seals and sea lions:

At one point, we wanted to see the "nighttime" animals, thinking that there may be bats.  We got very lost, searched some more, and found that we were right by them to begin with.
There were adorable things... but there were only three of them.  ...and no bats.
Also, there were little orange monkeys that were adorable and my boyfriend wanted to feed them but I was like, NO BITCH and he was like BUT DEY BE CUTE!
*ahem*
We got cotton candy, beverages, and a pretzel with cheese. 
I was very pleased.
Nobody got eaten. 

Then, we went to dinner with two of our friends.  I got a very tall glass of god-knows-what-alcoholic-something-with-strawberries.  There was a SHIT TON of crab, which was lovely, and way too much food in general.
My boyfriend commented on the rather large, goblet like glass he had for his beer.  Being my father's daughter, I asked the waiter if we could buy said glass.  It was only $8 for this rather hefty thing, so why not?  Especially since he paid the rest of the tab.
Then, we went to the store to get some fabric.  A day or two later, I used said fabric to make this:

He now has spines on his back as well.  The outer one is named "Fido" and the inner on is "Fred".  He's about 90 inches long, because I'm insane and have a problem.

EDIT: Look!  Spines!

Anyhoo!  On the drive back from the store, we were chatting.  I said, and I quote, "This has been, like, the perfect day!"

And then we got T-d. 

On my side.

Ow.

My door was crushed.  I got smooshed.  We both had whiplash and hurt heads.  No blood or anything.  No concussion. 
My left thigh was pretty seriously bruised.  I was limping for a couple of days. 
What happened, really, was that Saabs are amazingly safe, so I didn't die.  However, my airbag punched me in the arm, sending me smashing into the center console.  So, with my seat belt on, I didn't go flying onto my boyfriend, but I still got pretty banged up. 

This is where I should have panicked, but I didn't.  You would think, "oh, what a wonderful life skill!", but no. 
What I mean is, since I got the wind knocked out of me, I wasn't really breathing well at first.  I sat there wheezing.  My boyfriend asked if I was okay.  In my head, I didn't think "Oh shit, I may have just been crushed in some way, since I'm having a hard time breathing..."  No.  I thought,

Quickly followed by, "oh no!  I have to save the left overs!!" 
I blame my mother for this.  I feel she responds to similar situations in similar ways. 
In fact, a few days later, my mother actually asked, "So, what happened to the left overs?"

...The answer is that my boyfriend had a *bit* more to think about than drippy bags of food. 

In any case, while that was all a bit shocking, it ended well for me. 

I got to ride in a fire truck.  Yeah.  Heated fire truck... which I thought was funny.
They took me home.  ...Well, they took me home after being a little too friendly for a bit:

I politely declined their offer of being a mascot.  Ever see Rescue Me?
Just like that. 

Later on, we went to a hospital, just in case.  They gave us pain pills and stuff to relax our muscles, but said we were fine beyond that.
We were put in separate rooms, which was reasonable, except for the snooty man saying "Before you ask, NO, you may NOT share a room!"  I half expected him to call us imbeciles or philistines.

When my bullshittery was done, I had three different people tell me what room my boyfriend was in, and to "Go to him!"  So, naturally, I figured he was going to die.  Here is where I panic for no reason.  I stayed calm, and it was both comical and horrifying to see him plopped on that hospital bed in nothing but a gown.  It was his demeanor that made it comical, really. 
He is a very chill dude.  I need that.
Anyway, we were both fine.

When I first got home (via fire fighters), Tiger looked at me, put his hands on my waist and asked "Does it hurt here?"  When I said no, he then picked me up.  I like that he checked first.  It was very cute.

At one point during this whole thing, a police officer took my information.  When he saw that it was my birthday, he very quietly asked, "It's... It's your birthday?"
He had a look on his face like the love of his life had just dumped him.
I wanted to give him a hug.
After a while of awkwardly pausing, he said, "Happy birthday?"

He and the car were clearly the real victims here.

EDIT:  Because more than one person has asked, yes.  Yes the goblet survived.  It was HEFTY and perfectly fine.  My now-ex has apparently spent the next year bitching about his shoulder being kinda funny, but we'll chalk it up to him being a delicate little flower at six foot whatever.  My hip is still wonky from time to time, but I suck it up and deal like a man.  UMPH.