On New Friends

I dated a douchecanoe a few years back. Before I re-met my husband. Before I realized I am hella better than that shit. He was a fuckhead. A shitty McDickFace who, it would seem, dated a semi-clone of me.

We have the same tastes, same look, same style, same damn medical conditions. Which is especially weird since most people haven’t even heard of one of them.

The first time I met this girl, she was naked in my bed with McDouchenozzle on top of her.

It wasn’t a good night.

And you wouldn’t think that three years later we would start talking, realize how fantastically awesome one another is, and have a hell of a time drinking cheap wine together and dancing.

But we fucking did.

New friendships. They pop up when you least expect them. And it’s pretty awesome.

A Place Where I Was Happy

I’m depressed guys, only this time for a slightly more legitimate, if nastagia driven, reason.

See, growing up, my family has always gone to Rough River. It was our place. It is our place. One of the few areas appealing enough to flock to at the first sign of a long weekend. A cell recption killing, mutant mosquito swarmed haven of water and eery silence deep into the night. That’s a kind of silence you just don’t get in the city.

I’ve spent more days than I can count, or even remember, with my family out on that water. I’ve eaten carefully wrapped sandwiches, raising them up above the waters edge as I float, clumsy and puffy in my safety jacket. I’ve slurped watermelon carelessy, paying no mind to the sticky juices covering my face and hands.  I have fed turtles cheetohs. I’ve tubed and failed horribly at skiing. I’ve burnt to a lobstery crisp despite my mother’s warning to wear sunbloc, and laid, itchy and uncomfortably warm at night, knowing I was just going to do it again in the morning.

First, we went there and stayed in a family friend’s place. I only have a few memories that reach back that far; staring wide eyed at the bats long into the night, when I should have been sleeping, and chasing those lizards with the blue racing stripes, whose tails popped off at the last second, bestowing them freedom from my young and grubby fingers.

Then we went there camping, RV style. I loved camping, despite the fact that it forced me to be out of my privacy bubble. I looked forward to it, even though there were no true walls to hide behind, and showering involved protective flipflops and a large, cricket infested, cement building. It was by no means “roughing it”, but it did rip me out of my comfort zone on a regular basis, in a way that was more exciting than panic inducing.

On occasion, my sister and I even slept in a tent outside the RV. Oh yeah, wild women were we.

I remember bon fires and smores. A few special weekends when the family all went to the same camp ground and lined up the RV’s like a tiny tin neighborhood. I remember my mother’s tacky lights, transforming our small square into a cheery space to laugh and play cards.

Then came the camp. The Tilta-World as we named it, due to the waving of the walls and the slight tilt to the floor that made you feel tipsy in the middle of the night. It was a glorious, tiny, nothing that was our family’s everything many summers for many years. The kitchen, covered head to toe in green ivy wall paper, including the mirror and fan blades. I slept in a tiny closet of a rooom, adorned in treasures I picked up from peddlers malls and flea markets, and the ugliest green vinyl flooring in existence, which I thought was just absolutely beautiful when I picked it out. With a wraparound deck, mounted up on the hill, it gave a beautiful view to anyone willing to just sit and look for it. Again there were the camp fires and card games. Long days out on the boat, coming back exhausted and happy, slightly toasted, and longing for a shower.

And now it’s gone.

See, that beautiful little trailer is older than me. And it has held on for many years, God bless it, but last year when my husband and I arrived for Memorial weekend, we noticed the ceiling sagging. Dust around the edges, seeping in through cracks that were not there the year before. This year, we came down armed with saws and hammers. Nails and plaster board.

We were going to fix that beautiful nothing. We were going to prop its ceiling back up and reclaim its rooms. I wasn’t ready for the Tilta-World to be gone, and I was going to fight mold and mildew, spiders and hornets, to reclaim its presence. I wanted just a couple more years in the place that felt so familiar.

But we were too late. The winter was too hard on its weakend roof. We arrived to caved in ceilings and standing water. To mold overtaking the walls and rugs. We arrived to my childhood memories, falling into decay from neglect and lack of use. We took too long. We cared too late. And now there’s nothing we can do to save it.

I feel like part of my childhood died out there, alone, with no one to say goodbye. It shouldn’t have gone like that. It should have been fixed or replaced while it still resembled its  self. It should have been able to go with dignity.

It was a place where I was happy. And now it’s been destroyed.

I could make reflections bounce off your forehead, but I won’t, cuz I’m classy as fuck.

Everyone looks for certain things in a romantic partner, yet we consistently end up in bad relationships, looking back and literally going “What in all the fuck happened here???”

Most chicks have some vague set of rules or reasons she will say “yes” to a date. She’s accumulated them through time and hopes to all that is holy that they will steer her in the right direction.

You know…the “I’m NOT Dating a Sociopath” direction.

It never works.

Reasons I said Yes to a date vs why I probably shouldn’t have:

1. He had a ball pit in his basement: This seemed fun and goofy. Plus, getting to watch horror movies while literally swishing around in a ball pit you know hasn’t had a five year old pee in is awesome.

Reasons why this was bad? He wasn’t awesome. He wasn’t fun or goofy. This boy must’ve used the entire sum of his uniqueness to create that tiny ball pit. His conversation was enough to have me texting my friends begging one of them to fall down some stairs and need emergency transportation to the ER. He lived with like 8 sloppy people and actually thought having a collection of Spencer’s Porno posters made him cool. It didn’t. It made him a douche that was trying way too hard to have swag.

You want to have a few half nekkid ladies hanging around your place? Fine. Hang them in the bedroom. The bathroom. The movie watching room. Collection of porn? Whatever. I’ll even forgive that weird Japanese tentacle shit as long as it’s for comedic purposes, but lining your hallway? with scotch tape?

That’s the kind of  in your face “I’m a SEXUAL MALE. Hear me ROAR” that proves with absolutely no doubt that in the sack you’ll probably have the rhythm of a 10 year old epileptic with a strange strobe light obsession. I’m pretty sure he thought this brazen display of nekkid was a signal of his lack of give a fuck, but really all it did was prove he did give a fuck. This kid wanted so badly for chicks to think he was bad ass. It was painful.

2. I felt bad saying no without actually getting to know him: The idea here is that a shy, nerdy (not in the cute way), awkward dude is probably only shy, nerdy, and awkward because he doesn’t know you. He’s nervous. Maybe given the chance he would blossom into Brad Pitt and carry you to happiness upon wings that smell of roses, complete with a  lifetime supply of cookies included. It’s not right of you to judge him right off and not even give him a chance right?

Wrong. So wrong. The first Red Flag is that you feel guilty for saying no. Do you know why? This kid oozes self pity. He fucking OOZES IT. His personality has the emotional equivalent of Gangrene, girl, and he’s waving that shit in your face and subconsciously saying it’s going breach the brain’s protective barrier and  kill him in .2 seconds if you don’t give him a chance. This is the guy that always wants to know what’s wrong but you never tell him cuz it will make that bitch CRY.

Normally, saying no should make you feel awkward, slightly uncomfortable. A temporary “I didn’t wanna hurt his feelings” but if you have actual guilt? Enough to make you say “yes” when all your internal alarms are going “RUUUUUN. HIS DNA WILL WRECK YO’ FUTURE BABIES”

Just don’t do it.

3. He kept giving me mixed cd’s  with awesome music on them: This is the only one that wasn’t a total failure. I mean, I got like 40 cd’s worth of new music, and that shit is still there even after you’ve labeled him an emo douche and moved on. Rock those cd’s. You earned them.

4.He was cute: Yeah, he was also dumb. Like really dumb. And obsessed with golf.

5. He suggested a restaurant I actually liked: So, this was probably karma biting me in the ass. Accepting a date for a free meal is never really a good thing, but I wasn’t totally sure that was the only reason I’d accepted it. We’d only talked a little in person, but mostly through text and on the phone. Some people do not have game when on the phone. Have you met my husband? he’s monotone as shit on the phone. In real life he does Gir impressions and lick attacks my face for the hell of it. This guy…oh this guy was not just boring.

This guy was a bitch.

He started off the date commenting upon my nail polish, which was blue. Apparently this wasn’t a very classy color and revealed my age. I was younger than him and this was apparently a huge thing. Yes … by like two fucking years.

Next it was my voice. I apparently have a baby voice.

Then it was my choice of food. I wasn’t a “risk taker”.

This guy just COULD NOT get over the age difference. I guess I could’ve retaliated and pointed out that, yes, I have a young voice and sometimes a young style, but at least I wasn’t 23 with a massively receding hairline. (I could’ve used my fork to make reflections bounce off his forehead) but I’m classy as fuck, so I didn’t.

Not only that, but he totally thought the date went well. Lack of self awareness, much?

6. He had the balls to walk up to me in a mall and just ask. Yeah…he’d had a lot of practice. He was a Jehovist Witness.

 

What are some reasons y’all have accepted dates?

It’s My Birthday Bitches! I mean…lovely decent human beings whom I care deeply for!

It’s my birthday BITCHES!!!

Yeah…so…I’m trying not to get very excited here seeing as my birthday has notoriously been awful.

From grade school parties where only 2 people showed up… During the years where all you care about is The Little Mermaid and gummy worms, that shit buuurns, dude.

To my 16th, on which a douche broke up with me. Sweet 16, mother fucker. In all fairness my actual party was fun that year.I didn’t drink then so instead we all just drowned our sorrows with ridiculous amounts of pixie stix and that sparkling grape juice that makes you feel all fancy.

To two years of lackluster-nada

I don’t even remember my 20th, yo.

21st…yeah. A friend’s car magically disengaged it’s parking break and rolled backward almost crushing my father as he tried to stop it from creaming the other cars. I failed to get drunk, or even really buzzed, and multiple friends decided to claw at each others faces with verbal ninja stars when we tried to play a simple game of  “what the f*ck”

and my 22nd? yeah, Puking my guts up in the ER. Nothing makes you feel young and vibrant like frantically clutching a bucked in a cold hard ER waiting room chair that smells equal parts puke and medical grade cleaner.

So this year? Let’s not fuck this shit up, ok?

Motts: Apple Juice of the Gods

I did not write a Christmas post, and for this I am truly sorry. It’s just that…well…I had strep, guys. Friggin strep throat for Christmas.

I felt fine the day before Christmas Eve. We went to visit my parents and all was well…till my throat got this odd scratchy feeling. Well, in the 30 minutes it took us to get home I was full blown sick. Temp and all that, unbearable throat pain, and an unquenchable desire for apple juice (my go-to drink for sickness).

Do you hear the angels singing????

Do you hear the angels singing????

I did get up to go to Christmas Eve at my parent’s house. It took me about 3 hours to get clothes on like an adult type person. The first of which was spent sleeping in my shower since, as it hurt to stand, I sat in the shower, head propped up on the soap holder.

John drove me to the house, where I promptly passed the hell out on the couch. Drool included.

Christmas Eve was still lovely. I guzzled my apple juice and indulged in mashed potatoes as they were the softest thing for dinner. I was starting to perk up due to a delightful combo of antibiotics and painkillers  when I looked over at John…who was quite pale.

Cat doing his best John impression.

Cat doing his best John impression.

Yeah…I got him sick too.  Except he decided he needed to one-up me by way of vomiting and extreme nausea. We left my parent’s early, seeing as we were both diseased. By the time we got home, John was pretty much a crumpled up ball of john-ness that vaguely resembled death.

He did not get out of bed till 6:30pm Christmas Day.

I haz the guilt for making him sick.

But I hope all of your Christmases…Christmasii, Christmas’….were fantastic. And hopefully disease free.

And to all...some really great drugs!

And to all…some really great drugs!

Detachable Penis

So, one day about three years ago I’m just driving along in my car. I turn on the radio and I hear this…

“I woke up this morning with a bad hangover

My penis was missing again. This happens all the time.

It’s detachable”

….now this is rather odd to be playing on the radio, but I continue to listen because…I mean come on. It’s a song about a detachable penis.

At first I thought about the horrors of having a detachable body part like that, but then the song made some very valid points.

“I can leave it home when I think it’s going to get me in trouble or i can rent it out when I don’t need it”

Going to a party without your girl and there’s this smoking hot slutty chick there? Detach it!

Hitting that awkward puberty phase where you can get a boner even if you’re staring at your algebra teacher Mr. NoseHairs and you don’t want everyone to think you’re a total freak with REALLY bad taste in men? Detach it!

Pants a little too tight? Detach it! (Hey, I think I know how those scene kids fit into those pants now…)

Got a female friend who’s hit a dry spell? Loan it out…though really for this one you’d probably rather keep it attached.

But then he goes into some detail and the picture gets a little disturbing…

“I really hate to have to sit down every time I take a leak”

Um…so…if the penis is detached…does that mean you just have this…hole a few inches under your belly button? I mean…you can’t really just sit and pee if you still pee out of the general area in which your penis exists. It would just…like…dribble. You’d have to basically plank on the toilet to keep it from getting on you.

And then he goes on to explain that some hobo has stolen his penis and is selling it for 22 bucks.

Anyways, for the past few years I have insisted that this song exists and searched for someone else who has heard it. Generally everyone just gives me a weird look. Well now I have proof!

Anyways 2, this was also the closest  I could get to a male version of the Boob Fairy.

have a listen here.

PetSmart, your employees need some sensitivity training.

Me and my husband bought a lizard from there. A baby teeny tiny lizard who has since spontaneously passed away despite us following the exact diet (pinhead crickets, meal worms, powder supplement, water) and the buying all the lamps (UV, basking) all that crap.

This is partially my fault as I had too much faith in this company’s reputation. I researched, but not as in depth as I could have since I asked MANY questions while at the store regarding diet, appropriate temperature, tank accessories.

Turns out they sold him way too young. I went to a store that specialized in Reptiles and stayed for an hour talking to their employees. They said nearly 50% of baby beardies will have failure to thrive, and will simply stop eating or pass from genetic defects. This is why it is so unethical to sell them so young. There’s thousands of posts on forums about baby beardies dying with no warning when bought from pet stores such as this. It was the most heart breaking two hours of research I’ve ever done. Beardies have a lot of trouble with digestion, and even more so when they are young. You aren’t supposed to feed them anything bigger than the width between their eyes which goes against PetSmart’s suggestion of meal worms. Because the neck is so short on a bearded dragon, attempting to swallow something so large can actually snap their neck.

Turns out they suggested the wrong type of bulb for appropriate beardie digestion. It’s even in their pamphlet. And while the employees specifically told me to turn off their basking lamp at night, the bearded dragon breeder warned me specifically to never turn it off because they prefer temperatures upwards of 103.

I feel awful. I noticed he, my baby lizard, was not as active as normal, but he was also shedding and they supposedly do that when they shed. I misted him, and soaked him in warm water, which he seemed to love. I hand fed him pinhead crickets which, man those tiny things are hard to get ahold of.

And yet i woke up a couple days ago and he had passed. This is where it gets worse.

So I called the store. We’d only had him a few weeks. I was looking for information, an idea of what could have happened. Many places that have a vet they use will do exams to tell you if something went wrong or if they were sick.

I was crying, and the girl on the phone didn’t even say “sorry for your loss”.

She instantly went into a rehearsed speech about their 14 day policy and how they can’t do anything without a receipt. I tried to tell her I wasn’t necessarily looking for a refund, but that I had followed their exact instructions and wanted to know WHAT WENT WRONG. They have a vet at the store…I figured maybe they could do an exam.

She never apologized for our loss. Not once. Instead she goes “Well you know it costs 60 dollars, we can’t just give you a refund.”

At this point I cut her off and was like I know what the animal costs. I bought him for my husband as a christmas gift. In fact, I bought 300 dollars in supplies as well from your store. I just had to tell my husband that his baby christmas gift died. That was his pet”

She said she could have her manager call me. Her manager didn’t call me. The same girl did. They didn’t even bother to have a legit manager respond to my call. I am beyond angry.

I posted this complaint to PetSmart’s Facebook page as well as their Twitter. They both replied with a generic “sorry for your loss” and directed me to their customer care email. I have emailed twice and they have not even responded. If anyone reading this would like to send them a message in support, I would greatly appreciate it. Obviously one customer is not worth their time.

To our little Chronic. I am so sorry if I hurt you somehow. I thought I was doing the right things. I followed the pamphlet and monitored your temperature and bought teeny tiny crickets for you. I misted you and sprinkled water on you to make sure you were drinking. Obviously that wasn’t enough. I hope you didn’t suffer. You really seemed fine the night before, so I pray you didn’t. We only had you a short time, but we loved you. We were hoping to have you for many years.

Late after we found you, when we were in bed, my husband whispered that he had held your body for so long, even though you were obviously gone, because he was waiting for you to wake up, like you usually did, and start moving again. We never would have hurt you on purpose.

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