working on Saturdays
climbing ropes in the pouring down rain for hours and hours for a work retreat….on a saturday
training all new staff
stabbing bus drivers with epi-pens
standing on my feet for 8 hours under a tent and repeating the same thing over and over
being invited to visit my friend in France!
attending a relaxing, nontraditional wedding
joining a writing club
writing!
calling 911
multiple Invisalign appointments (I didn’t think it would really work but it does)
relying on public transportation (car has funny firechemical smell)
getting a raise!
still not having enough money
bachelorette partying
30 Day Challenge Internet niche marketing (a little money challenge I thought I’d try)
buying new jeans
new haircut

I’m sure I forgot a major life event in there somewhere. It’s been hecticly busy. Is hecticly a word?
I’m really happy that this time of year is over; although I do hate wishing time away. it’s always my crazy, busiest time of year and I’m proud to say I’ve made it through another begining fall semester without maiming, shouting at, kicking/punching or otherwise insulting anyone in my direct path. I’m not sure about anyone outside of that path, I try not to look there.

I can’t even imagine what it must be like to come to America from wherever–and have to take a class on how to like us. I should have put my ear against the door to listen to what they were saying. If I really wanted to mess with them I could have waited for the session to end and then done the opposite of all the important information they just learned. But I’m really not a mean person–I just like seeing the pot get stirred…not with innocent people though I suppose. I always feel especially bad for the lost international students who are so timid and slight, I want to help them but I also kind of want to tip them over, like sleeping cows. sigh. i’m sorry you read this.

It is just another day in dreary, misty Cutlery County. I peeked out my little window. The earth was dark and squishy from constant rain and I thought to myself “that it is probably slippery”. I tended to fall down often because I have a psychological disorder that keeps me from having a brain. It’s called….something, I can’t remember but it is a very serious disorder and causes me to fall down stairs, run toward danger and realize way too late that I am doing something I shouldn’t be. This is how I met Deadward, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

My mother became a Carney. She wanted to travel from city to city operating The Gravitron and The Scrambler. She has always wanted to travel but I needed to stay in high school, so I decided to move back to Cutlery where my father resides. My mother warned me about the long depressing days I would now be susceptible to, so instead of falling prey to the bleak weather I decided to try to be as cheerful as possible. No one would know that on the inside I was a girl spackled with insecurity and nonsensical confabulation. Also, I don’t call my dad “dad”. I’m a rebel like that.

Tomorrow is my first day of school in this new place. High school could be brutal and starting over with no friends was giving me anxiety. I tried to remain peppy and cheerful as I got ready for my opening day.

The parking lot was filled with teenagers. I didn’t feel at all like I belonged, I wanted to turn and run but I knew that would draw attention to me and the last thing a gorgeous teenager like me wants is attention. I stood as stone-faced as I could, trying not to look out of place or stupid. The bell rang and I realized I would be in my first class! Oh no! This day signified a new beginning for me and here I was screwing it all up by arriving tardy to class. I am such a dolt. I had to get to class fast otherwise my lateness would draw attention and then….people would look at me. A scream lodged its way into my chest. I had to run. Being the object of attention was terrifying, I’d rather be locked in a lair with vampires than walk into class late. That’s when my disorder kicked in and I realized I wasn’t actually running yet—I was just standing there. I had only been thinking about running but not actually doing it! My god am I ever stupid. That was when I took off and got to class before the bell stopped ringing. Shew.

Dumbass High was not so bad. By the end of the day I had 4 bff’s and every guy at the school wanted to shank me. Not bad for tiny, feather-like me. I knew at some point something horrific had to happen, because sometimes I have inexplicable intuition and I was so right. When I walked into the muddy parking lot a bunch of huge, bulking boys were having themselves a football game. I thought nothing of this and continued walking along happily. Then there was a cacophony of cries and warning shouts saying my name, I looked up to see a mass of strapping, muscled boys rolling right toward me like a giant tumbleweed. Oh no! I had no time to think, so I didn’t. But right then I felt myself flying through the air, not injured or bleeding but angelic and pretty. And I landed safely, far from hurt or pain in the crystalloid arms of my savior, Deadward Sullen.

I stared at him in awe, his face resembled that of a Hollywood actor who was looking lovingly at himself in the mirror. He was diffusing beauty all over me, I felt that his beauty had broken into a million pieces and they were surrounding me, creating a chamber of beauty. His beauty was suddenly everywhere and I was so enraptured that I blushed in embarrassment. Deadward smiled, his mouth curved in a splendid white curve, like a toilet seat. I sighed and this seemed to entertain him. “You must be Principle Duck’s daughter, Twila?” Deadward questioned me more for formal purposes than for appeasing his curiosity, I got the feeling he definitely knew who I was because I had been such a hit on my first day, but admitting that would make me sound arrogant so I pretended that he was a fucking Genius!

“YES!” I exhaled orgasmically, “I am Twila Duck, the principle’s daughter and you just saved me from those footballing savages.” I pointed at them audaciously and fanned myself as if I was a belle at a ball. In mid-point I took in my surroundings. I was no longer in the muddy parking lot of Dumbass High. I was in my bedroom. How did this happen? Was I only dreaming? Where did everyone go? Had I eaten crack for lunch? Why did this weird stuff always happen to me? Did I actually get rammed by the football-playing squadron and was this all a hallucination? How come my boobs are so small? If I was hallucinating you’d think they’d be bigger. Anyway…

..whispering in my ear Deadward relented a sexy montage of illicit words… I was mesmerized by his idyllic, captivating voice. He almost hypnotized me, until I realized what he said…”I watch you sleep, Twila.” I knew this was wrong and not only wrong it was immensely and abhorrently SKETCH. But I liked it so I rubbed my fingers through the silken hair on Deadward’s magnificent skull. He purred like a mountain lion, come to think of it, he kind of smelled like he’d been feasting on live creatures but I thought nothing of that and continued to scrape my fingernails into his glorious, beautiful, exquisite head. Suddenly, as fast as electricity (that’s pretty fast right?) Deadward was standing on the other side of the room. One moment I was comfortable and hankering in his arms and the next moment he zoomed away like he was on ice skates. What the devil? How did he move so fast? How did we get into my room? Wasn’t I just at school? Why does he watch me sleep? How does he get into my house? My room? Oh my god, what if I farted? Why does he have superhuman good-looks? Could he possibly be a vampire that is hundreds of years old and be in love with me because I am the only person whose thoughts he cannot read? Can he not read my thoughts because of my serious brain disorder??

“What are you thinking, Twila?” Deadward probed deeply into my eyes; even though he stood 6ft away from me I could feel him as if he were an upright freezer directly in front of me. I grappled for something to say, should I tell him what I’m thinking or should I remain a mystery? I could forever enclose him in my diminutive density. My heart started to palpitate wildly and he gave me a hungry growl.

“How did you move so quickly? Why did you move so quickly? Are you afraid of me?” I tried to look as hurt as possible so he would fall for my charming witless forlorn. “I’m dangerous, Twila. I know I look like a babe but underneath this oasis of paradise I am nothing but evil. You should keep your distance from me.” Of course this made me want to have intercourse asap; my loins yearned to wrap the sculptured ice block of Deadward Sullen between my thin, uncellulited thighs. My insides would melt him into a puddle of flammable gas. He looked at me and licked his lips thirstily “did anyone ever tell you that you smell like Mountain Lion, Twila? I love mountain lions.” He slobbered so elegantly, like an angelic baby innocently sleeping. And then, like another switch had been…switched…Deadward was on me like a piano that just fell from a skyscraper, gnawing puppy-like on my arm. “Deadward,” I reprimanded jokingly, “so you are a vampire? That is funny because I’m not at all intimidated by you. I know I should be shaking with fear but instead let’s do it.” I winked at him and was taken aback by my intense confidence. Where did that come from? Why do my characteristics keep changing?

“Twila, I know we’ve only known each other for one hour but I know for a fact that I love you more than life itself. I’m as old as Rome and no other juvenile could fascinate my 84735447.8 year old soul like you do.” I felt faint, maybe because the only thing I’d ever eaten was a granola bar back on Saturday. It was delicious, Nature Valley, crumbling with oats and sugar. It broke to pieces inside my mouth in a fantastic splattering of granola goodness…

“TWILA!” I heard Deadward’s voice from a far away land and I realized that I must have actually passed out. Oops. “Sorry,” I muttered sleepily. “Thank you for saving me Deadward, I am such a moron. You’ll really need to be around to protect me from myself; I’ll need a lot of rescuing as I tend to make unwise choices because I’m just a girl.” I hung my head in demure relinquishment. Right then, out of nowhere, a vixen vampire with blood dripping from her fangs swooped through my window. I could tell she wasn’t there to borrow my Miley Cyrus CD. She wanted to feast on my blood! Deadward hunched in a pouncing pose and began making an animal-like rumble; I stared at him in dimwitted ineptitude, disbelieving what was now happening. Then he started to cough uncontrollably, I smacked him on the back so he could regain his menacing, foreboding stance. Then he was fine again, must have been some dried blood on the esophageal lining.

I looked back at the intruder who was hungry for my sweetly perfumed blood. Then I thought “I could take her.”

To Be Continued…

5 Things in my bag:

a pen to cross off to-do list items
my free credit report (never use freecreditreport.com)
BC pills–I never remember to take them so I carry them everywhere
my camera–i never know when I’ll run into brad pitt
a check for $46.31 that I’m veritably unable to actually remember to cash

5 Fav things in my bedroom:

I could try to make this interesting by saying stiletto heels, lube, a ceiling mirror, a sex swing and me–but I sold the heels on Craigslist, the lube got thrown away when i moved because i didnt want my mom to find it whilst innocently helping me, ceiling mirrors are only in by-the-hour hotels and I forwent leasing that room for this lousy condo, I did just see the sex swing at the Hustler store in New Orleans but I couldn’t justify taking it on the plane with me.
so the bedroom? it’s not the most interesting place.

5 Things I’ve always wanted to do:

take a sex swing as carry-on luggage
eat a giant steaming pot brownie for breakfast
beat up a one of those Paris Hilton type girls at the mall and then watch a crowd of people clap about it
buy a steak dinner for a homeless person
write a book that has a quirky cult following

5 Things I’m currently into:

not liking Hillary Clinton
Goodreads
taking the bus (gas is $4.19 a gallon and climbing)
Heroes–unfuckingbelievable, but good like pot in a brownie–i’m guessing.
Frutezia, it’s $8 wine–tastes like alcohol induced Clearly Canadian. delicious.

That’s it for 5 Things. I think after being tagged I’m supposed to tag others but I’m not really one to participate. Was I tagged? I don’t know.
Sorry it’s almost Tuesday.

to start figuring out what you want you have to narrow down the desires. If you’re like me you may not even have that many desires but you have tablets carved in stone of all the bullshit you definitely don’t want. That’s kind of good; you know the part of yourself that won’t settle. If you have 1,000 things you want you have to work on figuring out the most important for now. The problem with people who want it all is that they can’t focus and they end up with scraps and inaccurate details. Concentrate. pick a thing and do it well. if you want to be a gourmet cook but you also really want to be an opera singer and you can’t decide which is really the one you are going to excel at; guess what? you can sing and cook at the same time!
Maybe that is what the quote about the universe conspiring to help you realize your dreams is all about. Once you actually try, your attention is in one place instead of watching Hell’s Kitchen and American Idol, you’re in your element, standing at attention–your reward is…..it works out.

This post was going to be about the difference between dreams and fantasy. Then I took a look at these so-called dreams of mine and realized the post should really be about how to figure out what you want. I believe this is called soul searching.
Probably it is something that takes a lifetime.
I may fall into the “eternal” search category.
Searching keeps me from having to make a commitment.
Who needs to actually be good at anything if they are testing the waters? When i pick up a guitar and suck at playing because I haven’t practiced…ever…it’s okay because it isn’t my calling. When I decide to get back to that novel I work on whenever the day job tortures me, I forcefully amend myself to become that best-selling novelist who haunts me…but the feeling passes and i go back to …life as usual.

What is it about usual life that prevents us from fulfilling ourselves? My real life has nothing to do with who I am. In fact, real life is a sedative. I take it every day and go about living conveniently so I don’t have to face the challenge of extrapolation. Going to work everyday, watching TLC, eating taco bell…, none of that is getting me there. And this is the annoying part–there is completely illusive. That could be why it is so easy to ignore; it isn’t on the map. This should be easy because it is 100% selfish. When the problem category is all about you, the solution is supposed to be self explanatory.
Barbara Sher wrote a novel “I Could Do Anything..If I Only Knew What It Was”. I’ve been paging through it, the title caught my attention. (Although I’m not really a believer in the “i could do anything…” part) She says “It’s possible to want too much happiness.”
At first I snickered at her for reprimanding a person for going for their gusto of happiness. Then I realizied if you actually do want to attain one of your many dreams you’ll probably need to make some cuts. Also, it seems that those of us who like to be chronically negative expect much more out of happiness. We’re waiting for our crowns and red carpet. This is probably because the negative type, pessimists they are– aren’t easily pleased. Give a pessimist $150 and the day off from work and they can still quibble about how their car sucks (brake lights were out) and how they feel like shit because they didn’t do all the stuff they needed to do with that day. Like, make all their dreams come true…
This complicates life because you want it to give you some plump, juicy lemons. when you get the regular lemons there isn’t much “extraordinary” you can expunge from them. So what’s the big deal?

if you like pain and confusion… join me in my journey of figuring out where we belong, what we want and how we’re going to get it.

If/when i make dinner on any and every given night there is never any manifestation that i will receive a dinner on my behalf. That would be nice but it is not required. It does seem like common courtesy though, doesn’t it?
I do not give to get.
moving on….

tonight didn’t really feel like a cooking night…or a cleaning night. so..
i dug into my old recipes and pulled out an old time favorite. cheap wine and popcorn ala. at $3.49 a bottle and, well, a nearly illegal supply of Orville from Costco that probably equates to about .7 cents per bag (our box-o-popcorn actually expired in August 07′ but we’ve nearly gone through the entire box now. I will probably blog my incredible success the day i get through that…it’s been years in the making)

Good popcorn
Good wine
Good God
Lets dine

footnote: oh, and the wine was purchased from KMART. ya folks, i’m the real deal

pot wafted through the plaza today. the university has been overstuffed with parents this weekend. they are busy taking their kids out to special dinners and standing in the type of lines that should lead to roller coasters but really only lead to cheap folding chairs you have to sit in; where there isn’t even a view of the stage. but the smell of pot billowing in the breeze reminded me of spring and dave matthews concerts. after my day of being the office dildo and learning i’d have to work this weekend, i left in feelings preoccupied with boredom and anxiety. the mixture is a strange hyperactive culmination that makes me strangely despondent and thirsty for beer. anyway, the pot reminded me of something jenny said last weekend. she showed up at my condo on friday night, an hour early, we were excited for our weekend of amy & jenny to begin. after 20 years of being best friends we still manage to get excited to see one another. we walked to the liquor store and picked out the items we’d pee out later. then sat in my living room, content in our moment of alcoholic reflection–in mid-moment Jenny stated “this would be way better if it were E” and then she gave her beer bottle the don’t-even-bother look a girl would give a no chance guy at a bar. HAHA
Sorry i didn’t have any raver drugs, Jenny. better luck next time…