This is my blog, and it is dangerous. Do you think I want to die like this?

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Everyone, greetings. I have written a post.

Hello again old readers, new readers, and people named Fred who I will always call "Freeeeedrick" in my mind-voice.

I've spent much of the past year and more thinking in my brain, sitting here in my old bedroom with the crappy, boringly-painted paneling I somehow decided I needed when I was a teenager.

My bedroom walls were so bad when we moved to this house when I was 14 that I spent countless, fruitless hours listening to They Might Be Giants, trying to remove the layers of paint and wallpaper - and in the end, applying paneling actually seemed like a sane solution. Do not do this to your home, unless you never intend to drill a hole or hang a picture, because damn. My bedroom would be the only room in this house to survive a nuclear war.

But I'm very glad to be back here in New Jersey, despite the herculean efforts it took to convince the state to give me my driver's license back. This place has hoagies everywhere. All is forgiven.

One of my first memories of being back home was wallowing under my covers in the early evening, praying for cataclysmic force majeure, only to have my baby sister bounce loudly and cheerfully into my room unannounced, insisting I put some pants on, tie up the grease I stored on top of my head into a ponytail, and go with her to a get-together populated by airsoft friends of hers whom I'd never met. I had no choice, she's extremely stronger than me.

While there, I drank a shot of some manner of home-made mushroom-infused alcohol on a dare, to prove that nothing scared me anymore. Trust me on this - don't at all consider doing that. It's been a year since this happened to my body, and I still gag thinking about it.

A lot of my time in this room was spent being impossibly miserable - my YouTube history is proof - and then finally, mercifully, I had a project in the form of the job I started doing for the Airsoft/LARP game company. I no longer formally work for my old boss, mostly because I was making about zero dollars, and after awhile that gets disheartening and makes you want to yell all the time because it sucks having to ask your mom for tampon money when you are actually spending 12 or more hours a day working on something for another person's dream. No hard feelings between old boss and I, though.

But back to all the thinking. For the first time in my life I started to become happy being single, and often wondered if I should just stay that way for the duration. I reached a point where I absolutely refused to consider anything serious unless the guy was actually a box of kittens trained to meow my name.

One boring Friday night about six months ago, when I was in the mood to do something of a social nature for once (I know, I was even sober when I had that desire), a male friend of mine I hadn't seen in like, ten freaking years messaged me. Long story severely truncated, I have a boyfriend, despite the fact I can't convince him to meow my name, not even once, no matter how much I beg.

Since I would insist upon informations about a person's new kitten or non-kitten acquisition, I present thee with trivia about him:

1. He is so tall.
2. He cannot whistle. (Proof he is not a bird.)
3. He bought me my nose ring when I was 26 years old.
4. He has never eaten Arby's
5. He never reads my blog, the jerk, despite an agreement we made awhile ago that if I read one of his favorite books, he'd read my original Sims Legacy. Cut to me reading about ten of the books on his shelf, and he still remains only five chapters into the legacy.
6. I dated his brother for a year and a half, 15 years ago.
7. Yep, I just slipped that in there, like no big whoop.

So, that's what's been up. After noticing a sudden surge in likes on my Facebook page, I decided I should put something on this damned blog, since I'd never intended to stop writing, I just got into a weird mood and the longer I didn't write, the more the idea of writing even a grocery list to post here seemed terrifying. But if you're going to the market, I need more frozen pizza. The good kind!

As your reward for tolerating my absence and reading all those words, I give you:

Movie Summaries (as written by a creature from another planet who hasn't seen the film and sometimes doesn't even have the right poster).

Interracial gay couple overcome their fears of marathons through dance and Vespa therapy.
Used car salesman has one more car left to sell to make his quota for the month or his boss is just gonna kill him.

Color blind friends are sure you made them this way and they will not stand for it.

In a world where the whims of gravity are unpredictable, one brave
young man is on a quest for a better life through core strength.
Because I love you all so much, I have more!
Due to the fact that I didn't really have a proper workaday job, I ended up doing a ton of favors for people, one of which was cat-sitting for my sister more than once.

This is her punk-ass cat, Val. He's a little pissed off that after chewing on my
wrist for no good reason, I guffawed when he accidentally fell off the couch.
The last time I was equally abused and loved-on by her jerk cat was a long weekend, and she made the mistake of leaving me nothing to eat, but plenty of beer to amuse myself with. The result was a series of Post-it notes I left around her house. Enjoy.

One of those moments you wish you had filled your purse with googly eyes, like you always promised yourself you would.
She got a box of doilies from her work friend's mom and she
barely has an inch of house surface left un-doilied.
How else am I supposed to react?

I really, really hate that thing.
Keep in mind, beer was involved in these notes.
It's a good thing I don't just drink any old thing left in someone's fridge.
The errant cheese stick was discovered several weeks later by my sister's boyfriend.
That one wine cork left outside of the containment field haunts my dreams.
I hate when people say, "just saying." I hate myself.

And finally ...

Until next time, Freeeeedrick.

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Bunny Walker said...

You've gotta know, just for future reference, my purse actually does have a fuck ton of Google eyes in it. Because I know someone who thinks that's an appropriate gift for a 4 year old.

Bunny Walker said...

Googly! Googly eyes! Asshole phone!

Casey Siren said...

I actually got the doilies from Big Mike at work. His mom was getting rid of them.

Nico Morley said...

I need to see some Googly eye hooliganistics in your future, Bunny.

I will edit the post accordingly, sister.

Bunny Walker said...

The gifter of the googly eyes bought the non adhesive kind. **eye roll**
I'm sorry, but with my current mom-bob, a glue stick in my purse for the sake of hijinx is too perilously close to slipping into appliqué sweatshirts of kittens and elastic waist jeans territory. In other words, maybe in 20 more years. Fear not, they'll still be in my purse.

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