I Shit You Not

Happy late Independence Day, ya'll!

I wanna tell you about how my 4th went, because it's fucking crazy.

It all began on the eve of independence day, the third of July......the thief of happiness, if you will.

Hold on. Lemme back up. So I got diagnosed with gastroparesis. So there will be another detailed post later, but for now, know I can't eat solids. Like, at all.

On the this, the third of July, stealer of joy, I was (yet again) in the ER for stomach pain. This has become pretty routine, which sucks. I look like some kind of junkie, which......unless you count anti-emetics  (nausea, for all you asshats), I'm not.

The er doc ordered a CT scan, pretty usual, but I have severe anxiety and I have to be sedated. Their asses gave MY ass HALDOL. FUCKING HALDOL. Wanna travel to a different place on the space time continuum? Get you summa dat shit. Holy lord of the rings I was higher than I'd ever been on any street drugs (I tried plenty in my day, thanks. Just none for me now, k? K.)

My dumbass, being high as fuck, BEGGED for ZAXBYS TOAST. Why? I don't know. I was hungry, obviously, but that's normal now. But something inside me just couldn't put two and two together saying HEY BITCH, YOU CAN'T EAT THAT SHIT.

So of course Boo Thang gets ZAXBYS,  and I'm grateful. Crying tears of joy over the incredible flavor of the Sprite that accompanied the toast. Marveling at the rich, buttery nature of Texas Toast, and wondering if, indeed, God blessed Texas. I mean, I'm from there, so technically I guess so?

I ate the magic toast and THEN ATE A CHICKEN FINGER.  GODDAMMIT IT FELT GOOD.

I was obviously too fucked up to make proper decisions, because Haldol made me believe I was cured (GP = NO CURE). That chicken had to have been selected by God himself to be placed in my mouth, only for my consumption. It was my gift for suffering through protein shakes and meal replacement drinks (Ensure tastes good though, ya'll).

Obviously.

I.

Was.

High.


So the 4th of July rolls around. I wake up at 5 am because I need to shit. Not like, ho hum, gotta poop, oh no. No ooooo no. I'm talking....you know that TLC song that says 'Don't go chasing waterfalls?'

Apparently I chased said waterfall, and I found it in my butthole.

It was CLEAR,  both the poop, and the realization that I'd majorly fucked up. So I gathered myself together and went off to the walmart to grab some *supplies*. (toilet paper, coconut oil, Immodium, more protein shake powder). I needed to prepare for war.


So BOTH of our kids PLUS Boo Thang are in bed, right? I make my journey alone. Thank god.

I make it back without much incident. The day progresses and so does my butthole. I'm sure it dilated like a cervix. I am not sure if that's medically possible but I think I made a miracle happen.

Moving on to midday, Boo Thang asks for help to fix a lawnmower. "Yeah baby, I got you. You take care of me. I got you. "

And that's when it happened. IT. HAPPENED. Full on Maya Rudolph from Bridesmaids happened. I *thought* I had to fart. Sure, I fart in front of Boo. Not a lot, cause I'm a fucking lady, but when you got to, you got to.

I realize pretty damn quick I'm going to need the bathroom, so I drop the clamps I'm holding the gas line together with, douse Boo Thang in GASOLINE, and RUN to the bathroom.

I. Did.  Not.  Make.  It.
I learned, in that moment, to never trust a fart.

Later that day, he asked me to marry him. I'm not sure if he was high from being coveted in gasoline or what, but he did. And I said the only thing I could think of, "Well fuck yeah. "

I'm an eloquent bitch.

Happy holidays!

The Nerd Herd -- Yes, It's A Thing

Wanna hear more about my epic Tinder failures? OF COURSE YOU DO.

OF COURSE YOU DO.

After Kayak Guy I talked to a couple other people on Tinder. I was not dissuaded. Tinder is a GOLD MINE for this blog. I'm socially awkward and the world is my (fucked up) oyster.

So I'm talking to a few folks. And y'all, let me tell you : if you're flirting with me, I won't know unless YOU TELL ME. I JUST WONT KNOW. I am oblivious to all flirtations. But this guy, this one in particular, he was really really cute. So I sacked up and invited him to a Tinfoil Hat Party.

What is a Tinfoil Hat Party you ask? It is a party. With tinfoil hats. So aliens cannot read your thoughts.

My bestie and I were doing a charity photo shoot at a local dive bar, aptly named after an animal that doesn't reside in this part of the world. The shoot was a Conspiracy Theory and as such, had to have tinfoil hats. Bonus points to me, that is sincerely the weirdest thing to ask someone to accompany you to. So if he got freaked out, no big deal. He can't hang with my weird and doesn't deserve me anyway, amiright?!

Yes. Yes I am.

So this guy looks like freaking Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead. Like straight up a Norman Reedus lookalike. We'll call him Baby Daryl. Baby Daryl agrees to meet me at the Tinfoil Hat party / shoot and he even brought his own tinfoil. He went and bought JUST tinfoil, at the risk of looking like a meth monkey. I'm not saying it's true love, but it's definitely a sign of good things to come.

Baby Daryl and I have fun! We talked all night long, I kept him out wayyyyy past his bedtime, and he even met my ex boyfriend and didn't get all weird. Bonuses all around.

Skip ahead to a few days later and Baby Daryl and I decide to go to karaoke together.

And I accidentally invited another guy on our date.

From Tinder.

This Random Guy From Tinder ended up getting so very mad, as though I owed him something other than allowing him to breathe in my presence. I got alllll manner of nasty texts. "That guy you're with is a douche, let's leave." (No -_-) "You're a bitch." (Duh) "All my friends were right about you. You're a crazy bitch." (I tried to tell you.)

This guy was really really mad. And I didn't realize he was flirting with me. When you ask me to pick you up so you can go see your friends and smoke a joint it doesn't exactly equate to first date material. I mean COME THE FUCK ON. But I was completely oblivious to That Random Guy's flirting. 100% gone. But hey, let's be mad about it, yeah? Calling me a psycho bitch REALLY MAKES ME WANT TO DATE YOU.

Not.

Fast forward a few weeks later. Baby Daryl had introduced me to his friends via the most decidedly nerdtastic lunch I've ever been to. And that's saying A LOT. I've dubbed these dudes The Nerd Herd. I even told them about it and they liked it. I can't win.

I AM KHALEESI.

Found this gem in my Reddit account.

It's old.

But still funny.

You guys wanna hear some really funny stuff? Earlier I posted about problem clients and having gallbladder pain.

I had been texting boyfriend all day asking about his gallbladder removal experience because hey, sometimes you need a friend, amiright? He's older, experienced with...aging...I figured he could at least talk me through it.

And it was bad. It friggin hurt. Boyfriend was on standby... Literally. Waiting for me to be done to whisk me off to the ER. I was doubled over. It was rough.

I finished three of the five -- it was originally four -- clients (the color one tried to haggle a la 'my mom is the manager at Sally's ::rotflmao::) and rescheduled the remaining two for tomorrow. Immediately collapsed. In pain. Felt like an alien trying to claw it's way out of my guts in between my ribs. Like giving birth to a dragon, if you will.

After ten minutes of me just lying there, clutching my (abundant) stomach, boyfriend demands an er visit. So we go.

Taken back immediately and did the whole 'no, I'm not pregnant, pee in a cup, get arm stabbed by tortuous phlebotomist who was overtired from sex and visiting a brother locked up in atl the night before' routine. Dr. comes in, touches my belly while I wince, and giggles and says, "I hope you like sur-ger-yyyy!!"

Now I am afraid. I am sweating. Hard. Get a series of xrays. Return to bed. Clutch belly. Whine about aliens and dragons. Get a shot of Demerol. GET EXCITED ABOUT GIVING BIRTH TO A DRAGON BECAUSE I AM KHALEESI, MOTHER OF DRAGONS.

Nurse comes in. I'm still pretty messed up... And says, "We have your official diagnosis. And it's gonna be OK. I promise." Hands boyfriend three prescriptions. I ask, "Wait...what? THERE ARE DRAGONS IN HERE THAT NEED TO BE BORN!" "Indeed," she said.

"You've been diagnosed as FOS."

I am CONFUSED. "FOS?"

"Full Of Shit." Deadpan. I GOT TOLD I WAS FULL OF SHIT.

TL/DR: I am beyond constipated (thanks holidays and not having time to poop) and now my boyfriend will have endless poop jokes to make for all eternity. And will always make sure I took my Miralax.

Happy Holidays!

K

Tinder Dates and Epic Failures

I decided to download Tinder.

    I know. I KNOW. I know. Trust me, I know.

But it was (basically) for shits and giggles, so why the fuck not? I'm grown-ish. So I downloaded the app. I was sick to death of reading about this treacherous app, the horrible dates, the awful dick pics, and not being able to see for myself. Ya'll know me, I'm curious.

The first five minutes I had the app I had secured my first Tinder Date! What was the Big Fucking Deal everyone was whining about? I had no clue. I really didn't.

So I agreed to an afternoon of kayaking with a really nice looking older-ish guy, Kayak Guy. Kayak Guy was in his 40's (definitely in my wheelhouse) and was really really respectful. Not at all what I had been led to expect. So I agreed to a date. Kayaking is pretty innocent, amiright?

NO. NO IT IS NOT.

Kayak Guy picks me up at my place ( I KNOW, I should have told him to meet me somewhere public. Shit guys, my bad.) He picks me up in a Jeep CJ5 -- I LOVED HIS JEEP. I'm pretty sure that's why I even talked to him in the first place. That Jeep was dope as fuck. Kayak Guy picked me up and drove me over to his place to pick up the kayaks. He seemed pretty normal (as far as internet dates go, anyway). We talked about life, kids, jobs, and Jeeps. Normal shit. He seemed pretty comfortable, I was pretty comfortable, it was working! I was thinking, "THE FUCK, GUYS?! TINDER PEOPLE ARE NORMAL."

We talked about our shared love of craft beer and decided to make a pit stop at the local beer snob store. Discovered we both loved the same beers and we admittedly went a little nuts at the store, buying a case and a half of beer. Yep. A case and a half.

We head to his place. His house was HUGE. Legit, HUGE. He had kids, but not 100% of the time. His house was very....impressive. And pretty intimidating, because, you know, I live with my mom. By choice. Yeah.

So we are chilling at the house and pre-gaming a few beers. I make friends with his cute ass little dog, Dog, and I ask if Dog can come with us. (he was really fucking cute) We load up.

He's already got the kayaks ready, and he's told me that he's an Engineer with the Government. (I was scared. THE GOVERNMENT) so I totally trusted his tie-downs and the like. He even offered for me to drive his Jeep! Of course I turned it down because WHAT IF I LOOKED STUPID AND FUCKED UP SWITCHING THE GEARS? I cannot have that! Nope. So he tossed me the keys to his GOVERNMENT ISSUED TRUCK -- which had the kayaks in the back -- and we were on our way.

Sort of.

While I was backing out of his driveway I accidentally ran over his neighbor's STONE MAILBOX. Made of STONE.
BIG. ASS. STONE.
On top of destroying his neighbor's big fucking mailbox, I ram the mailbox so hard with one of the kayaks that it SHATTERS the back glass in his government issued truck.

OH MY FUCK. FUCK MY LIFE. WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST DO?

Thankfully, he hops out of the Jeep laughing, so I start laughing too. The neighbor comes out, and he's laughing as well. I was completely embarassed. I have never, in my life, managed to destroy not only a person's property, but THE GOVERNMENT'S PROPERTY AND THEIR NEIGHBOR'S PROPERTY TOO.

All I could think about was, "This is exactly why I downloaded Tinder. I knew it was gonna be weird. I know how awkward I am. Just be cool."

Kayak Guy and The Neighbor decide on when/where they are going to fix the mailbox and we are on our way kayaking.

The actual kayaking part was FUN. I would LOVE to do this again! I made a complete ass out of myself by falling out of the kayak several times, and I STILL, nearly three months later, have bruises from it, but I very much enjoyed myself.

SOMEONE TAKE ME KAYAKING

I PROMISE I WON'T BASH YOUR VEHICLE OR YOUR NEIGHBOR'S MAILBOX. PROBABLY.

So far, so *meh* for the Tinder Dates.

K

inside out

I have got to be the oddest combination of a personality.... I'm a hippie-redneck-city girl. I am that girl who wears a ball gown with a thigh holster for her pistol while rocking red lips. And the next day I'm the girl who wears no makeup, a bandana, and MIGHTY holey jeans for long rides down dirt roads, swilling whiskey.

I feel like I got boxed in the past couple years. I think I was trying to hard to fit into a crowd that a) gave zero fucks about me on a personal level and b) I would never really fit into anyway. I have gotten back to my roots, my basics. My basic, simple, country life. And I love it. I love waking up in the morning. Yep. The am. I said it. Morning. I love going to bed by ten pm. Love it.

I suffered from terrible insomnia for so long, y'all... And it was because I was LAZY and DEPRESSED. I didn't want to get out of need.... So I didn't, and I couldn't sleep. Now, I sleep. Hard. Because I'm physically tired at the end of the day.

I feel much more like myself. I have started to accept myself for exactly who I am, and not making apologies for what I like and what I don't.

I am not hard core into video games. I FUCKING HATE WORLD OF WARCRAFT. I like MKII and Tetris and GOT. That's about it. I like to paint and draw. I like to make things. I love love LOVE doing hair and makeup. Making people feel good about themselves is the best thing ever. I love going camping, getting dirty, and feeling the sun shine on my face. I love loud music and I still hate shitty country. I like good country....but that's far and few between. I love blues music and roots music. I love funk and jazz and house and downtempo music. I love good old fashioned rock. I love wading in a newly discovered creek with my Peanut. I love finding pretty flowers and taking them home.

I'm pretty pissed off at myself for trying to mold myself into what I thought other people wanted me to be. It didn't make them like me and it made me fucking sad. Fuck that.

I love that I finally love myself again.

Failure to Launch

I once was in a relationship with a man who had what I call Failure to Launch syndrome. So many times in his life he had tried to 'make it', only to fail and return to his family home, basically miserable and alone. He was super up front about his life and his so-called failures when we met. After knowing him for awhile, I realized what the 'failure' stemmed from: Fear. Unbridled fear. Not in the sense of "ZOHMYGAWD LOOKADAT SPIDER!!" but more of a generalized fear... Of failure.

The fear in him was nearly paralytic. It caused him to second, third, fourth, and fifth guess every decision. And when he made the wrong choices he would immediately get "Do-Gooder" syndrome (you know, the thing that happens when you fuck up and get called out on it so you're on your best behavior for a limited time?) to make up for having made a bad decision.

The fear he had inside him ruled his life. And it's something I've never understood. I am terrified of failure. But I'm not so afraid to fail that I end up not doing anything at all.

The way I see it, I'm human. I am imperfect. I don't know everything. But if I try something and fail, I've learned a whole lot more about the process, about what worked and what didn't, and about myself as a person.

Does it feel good to fail? No. Hell no. If it did it wouldn't be such a dirty word. But it doesn't always have to earn such a negative connotation.

I view each failure in my life as a learning opportunity... And as you know, tuition can be fucking pricey. For as many things, ideas, jobs, creative endeavors, relationships, and even a marriage, that I have royally fuckered all up and failed at, I learned A LOT. That's worth the world to me.

I hope Failure to Launch eventually finds a way out of the fear. The Great Unknown can be pretty damn spectacular.

ISO Preparation H...

You ever fucked up your life so bad you think you'll need the fire marshal to come help put out all the fires you created? Yeah. Me too.

I screwed over -- royally -- one of the kindest and gentlest people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Why? Because I'm a dumbass. Because I am horrible at communication. Because I am terrible at life. So not winning in that department.

I feel really bad about what I did. I want to apologize. Not because I feel like I need forgiveness... No....I don't think I deserve that. I want to apologize because I think they deserve it. I made some bad choices. I hurt people. People I care about. It doesn't make me feel good to know how I made these people feel. It just reinforces this self destructive carousel ride that is my life. All custom built by hand, mind you. My hands. I did it. My screwed up life is my own fault, and nobody else should have to suffer because of it. Unfortunately, I cannot live in a bubble and I must interact with other humans in order to live a productive life. So now I'm back on deep therapy sessions weekly. I am taking my medications. And I am considering my actions and choices as carefully as I can. I'm not fully equipped to adult yet, but I'm working on it.

I do hope one day I get the chance to tell everyone I've ever screwed over that I'm sorry. Maybe I will. Who knows?

There will be more to come. I just.... I had to get this out right this moment or I was going to explode. Sigh. Currently thinking that combusting might have been an easier option.

K