My Mother Has Super Powers

This will be a quick post.  I just wanted to inform the world that my mother has this ability to just... not give a shit about bad things happening.  The woman just got her knee replaced, is going through physical therapy, and even though it sucks, all I hear from her is "YAY cookies!"  I'm sure my father doing his best to wait on her and treat her like a princess helps.  Of course, I feel like she has some secret elves or something who would gladly come up from fairy land to help out if it was needed.

I swear, my mom is an escaped Disney princess.

Again, just had surgery, yet sending me this:

...Just to clarify here, I'm 26 and she just had surgery.  Either one of those would be reason enough for a mom to stop this, but no.  You know why?  Because my mom is badass, and freaking loves the Hell outta me.

Be jealous. 

The end.

A Tale of Two Furbys

Okay, so, some of you may remember Furbys.  They were cute little bird/mammal... things... with no arms.  There had been a copyright issue with the original design looking like Gizmo from Gremlins, but apparently that's all been sorted out, as there seems to be an official Gizmo Furby these days.

Now, the Furbys I'm going to speak to you about are not the ones of today.

The ones of today are even worse.

The ones of today can walk forward, smile and frown, and are at least twice the size of the old ones.

The ones of today could fuck up your day pretty easily if they ever became sentient and wanted to kill us all.

No no.  I'm talking about the ones that came out when people still marveled at the idea that your toy effectively did not need you, and could play just fine without you.

I don't remember asking for a Furby.  I remember asking for other stuff, like when I was even younger, asking for a Barbie movie theater and a Barbie motorcycle.  I remember asking for a lot of things, and in all honesty, I remember getting most of them. 

I was not particularly tantrum happy as a kid.  If anything, I am more so now.  If I don't get my way, I throw a fit until I somehow manage to get whatever stupid thing it is. 

As a kid, I didn't care so much.  ...about anything, really. 

So, I don't remember having any want for a Furby, beyond in passing thinking they were kind of cute.  I saw friends of mine frantic and screaming for one.  It just didn't seem to be worth the effort.

I wanted a toy I could put in a box and not feel guilty later.  A toy that couldn't tell me when it was hungry, because toys don't actually need food.  A toy that I wouldn't need to talk to... because that's just very sad.  (And a bit scary)  I personify objects as an adult enough as it is.  In some ways, that may be the Furby's fault. 

Like that episode of Twilight Zone with Talking Tina. 

And yet, I got a Furby.  

In fact, I got two. 

One of them was completely white, like a gumdrop and a marshmallow had some horrible sex experiment go wrong and produced this atrocity we called a child's plaything.  

The other was a Halloween edition, which was awesome to me.  It was black and orange and sported a witch hat. 

Neither of them work anymore, but that second one never did.  It would wake up, say "Bwelo coco" and then snore and go back to sleep.  Narcoleptic Furby.  Great.  I figured it was a special Halloween one, so maybe it just woke up on Halloween? 

...Nope.

The white one used to work just fine, but it still... wasn't... right.

My friends would complain that if they were changing in my bedroom, it would conveniently wake up to say "Bor-ring!  Bor-ring!  HELLO!" like some infantile construction worker stereotype, checking out a hot babe. 

Well, eventually, we got used to the pervert and the sleeper. 

Then one day, the white one started making scary noises.  I'm not talking about the Furbish or random English phrases.  No.  I mean it started making horrible demonic sounds. 

Well, I figured the battery was dying, so I opened it up to take out said battery. 

I did not realize that these things had backup memory.

It's logical.  I mean, that way you don't lose any... progress?  ...as you... teach it... things. 

Anyhoo, when I took the battery out, it's backup memory kicked in and it started talking normally.
In my early teen brain, all I understood was that this thing had been talking demonically, I took out it's batteries, and understanding that I was onto it, it started talking normally as if to prove that it was okay and that I should let my guard down again so it can eat my soul and oogle my friends. 

So I repeatedly bashed it's damn head into the kitchen table until it stopped talking.

I still have them.  They live in storage, forever silent.  Perhaps one day, the sleeping one will awaken. 

...The white one better not. 

All I gotta say.



EDIT: Apparently the demonic Furby/talking without the batteries and scaring children thing happened a lot.  A couple of my friends have read this and told me so.
...Is that in the instruction booklet?

Showers, Baths, and Referring to Poop Too Many Times

Showers and I have a strictly business relationship. 

I get in, I do my business, I get out.  While some have a more loving relationship with both the shower and the toilet, I treat both with some amount of disdain. 

"You, Mr. Shower, are here to get me clean.  The end.  No funny business."

"You, Ms. Toilette, are here to catch whatever happens to come out of me.  Good luck."  *shakes toilet-hand*

EDIT: A friend/apartment mate of mine, Dustin (at http://www.flickr.com/photos/wiserobot) took this picture:

 
He had asked me to give the toilet eyes and arms.  Without question, I said "HELL YES" and did it.  So, now I can actually shake it's toilet hand.  Our apartment mate says it makes him feel like he is now one step closer to golden showers, having now peed in something that has eyes.   There are actually some pictures of me directly up on his site too...  Just sayin'.

In general, I'm just very uncomfortable while taking a shower.  I like feeling clean, but it's the standing up to do it that bothers me. 

Maybe it's my heritage and I have a strange association between showers and Nazis? 
More likely though, I've just watched Psycho too many times.

Fun fact, until a surgery leading to where she had to take showers instead, the star of Psycho took baths, often with someone in the room, due to the film. 

I love baths.  I could easily say to my apartment mates "Hey, I'm going to be in the bathroom for at least ever, so I need you guys to use it while you can." 
These are the guys who have had no issues peeing outside when the bathroom was taken, so they would be all, "Sure!" "No problem." *salutes* "Have fun in your bath, Princess!" 

But I don't ask.  Living with three to four people in an apartment with one bathroom makes me needlessly nervous and ultra aware of my bathroom time. 

Even having to take a crap becomes a stressful endeavor, once I feel I'm taking too long. 
I start thinking progressively more irrational things like, "Oh god.  Oh god.  What if someone needs this?  What if someone is really sick?  What if a cute little girl just came to visit and she needs to poo and I'm in here and so she has to go outside like an animal??"

I'm even the kind of person who turns the fan on, in hopes no one will hear me do what is meant to be done in the room with the toilet. 

Like I'm pretending to be some magical creature that excretes gummy bears instead.

Again, I know my roommates would be more than happy to ignore me while I crap.  This has nothing to do with reality or how people actually work.  This has to do with my screwed up brain. 

But baths... Man.  Baths are awesome. 

When I was a kid, I would make a fuss about getting into the bath, and then once there... I was sooooo freaking happy! 
And then I'd make a fuss about getting out.



I'm still like that, to a certain extent.  

And then I get in and it's, "Oh.  Right.  I like this.  This is awesome.  I forgot."

My mom would put this metal...plastic... who knows what it was made of...  It was white and it was a grid type thing that went across the bath tub.  Then, I had a series of cups and toys and even Little Mermaid figures.

Sometimes, Ursula would sing songs.  Sometimes, I was a mad scientist. 

I was awesome.

As a grown up who's too weird to ask to take a bath, I either take baths when no one is home, like some secret guilty pleasure, or I take showers begrudgingly. 

It helps to shower with someone, but even then, it's strictly business for me.  I have to be convinced to do otherwise. 
My boyfriend is there to wash my back if I ask for that.  ...He puts up with a lot from me, actually.  The whole typically-endlessly-patient thing is rather nice.

He doesn't wear glasses in the shower.  Just so we're clear. 

I will admit, there is a kind of comfort to showering with my boyfriend.  I figure, with him there, I won't get stabbed.  If I slip, he'll catch me.  Things like that. 
And washing my back if I ask.

He and I both have an issue with one sensitive eye.  ...Meaning that we each have one sensitive eye... Not that we share one.

His reacts to light.  Mine, as sucky as it is, reacts really poorly to water and sometimes to wind. 
...I wish I was kidding. 
It's from an old dog-stepping-in-my-eye-while-I-was-on-the-ground-after-falling-down-a-flight-of-stairs related injury. 

Therefore, washing my face is done very carefully, and often outside of the shower. 

The only other issue is that Boyfriend likes his showers boiling hot.

Oh well.


Also, I drew this a while ago.  It always bothered me that Flounder was not... a flounder... so I fixed it.

As It Turns Out, I'm Actually Not Terribly Friendly

To start, the "art" for this one was "scanned" using my phone.  I'm still visiting my homeland, so I've made do, in order to bring my thousands of fans (read: about six) this blog.

So, here goes.

I've been noticing more and more that I am a pretty angry/bitter woman.  This comes up mostly when interacting with total strangers, unless it's in a more planned setting.  If I'm at work, for example, this is not a problem.

If I'm in a hallway at school, it's not really an issue.

If I'm at someone else's job, and I'm the costumer, I am pleasant as can be.

...If I am in an airport, or a mall, or in a theater... whatever, and someone treats me in a way that I deem unfair... I am a monstrous beast of a person.

We'll stick to the airport, as this is a prime example of how I am a crazy, anti social loon.

I get upset if no one helps me when I'm struggling, even if I don't ask...

AND if someone tries to help without my asking.

I assume they either wouldn't help someone who was on fire, or they must think that I'm completely useless as a human being... depending on the situation.  No one can win.


Likewise, well meaning people who are jovial and joke can expect to be met with a harsh version of my usual pleasant (enough) self.  A simple "good job" from a stranger, no matter how obviously sincere, leaves me thinking they are being condescending.

...In all fairness, this was spawned from years of people assuming I was a lot younger than I really am.  If something would be an appropriate thing to say to a small child, it is generally a pretty rude thing to say to an adult.

On top of this, when an older man ignores me, or just does not immediately speak to me, I assume he has something against women.  The worst part about this is that I'm often right.

Nice men don't realize how often this still happens, in this day and age.

Either way, mostly, I keep my mouth shut, aside from some after the fact "I should have said", or internet ranting.

The only time this differs is in a movie theater.

Disturb my viewing experience and you'll get a disturbing experience of your own.  I've slammed back against stepped on and rocked seats.  I've loudly proclaimed the maiming that would occur if a certain person didn't shut up... Any anger management issues tend to show themselves during movies, and it's never at the film itself.

I've made grown men (read: teenagers) tremble from the awesome power of my getting pissed off during a film.  Other than that though, I let things slide.

In fact, I tend to let things slide a bit too often when I shouldn't.  I bottle in bizarre ways.  That though, will be a topic of another blog.

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.