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.

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.