Upcycled tshirt blanket

So my friend Tiedye got married a couple of weeks ago and her and her new Huz just moved into their first apartment. Her eggo is also preggo. Alas, I won't be here for her baby shower in October so I'm giving her her gifts tomorrow, as well as cooking her a badass breakfast.

Side 1: I think I like this side better. I arranged the colors nicer, I think. 

I'd already bought her some kids books, like some classic Eric Carle and Dr. Seuss, but I wanted something else to give her as well. True to form, Tiedye seriously loves all things tyedye so I decided to make her a blanket.

I made this out of partial tshirts that were leftover from a previous tshirt blanket, and some ribbed green fabric that I've had sitting around for a while.

I started out with all white shirts and tiedyed them in different ways and different colors to get a patchwork effect. Then I cut them up in to 8x8in squares (for a 1/2 in. seam allowance) and went to work. The green things are placed at 2 1/2 in. intervals and are made from strips that are 3 1/2 x 8 in.

Total cost? ~$10 and all of it was in dye.
Total time? If I hadn't been so distracted, probably about 3 days total. It actually took me a week but I've been working 40+ hours, so....yeah.
Also, at ~80% salvaged fabric, it's so eco friendly. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Since all the tshirts I made it out of were preworn, it's also super soft and comfy. Maybe I'll make another one for myself.

If I had been a tad more creative with the dye and the placement, I could have made it into a Tetris pattern (Huz is a total geek and would have thoroughly enjoyed that), and that would have been mind-blowing. Maybe next time.

West Virginia

Dad's family is from the hills of West Virginia. Upper Tract, West Virginia, to be exact (no lie, that's the real name). As a little bit of background info, here's some stats on Upper Tract, WV. The population is 897. Of those, 891 are white, 1 is Asian, 1 is Black, 1 is of mixed race and the other three are Hispanic. The average family income is $29,000 (poverty level for a family of 4 is ~$21,000) and everybody goddamn knows everybody and their business.

Every Easter for most of my growing up time we used to drive up to West Virginia to spend the holiday with my Dad's extended family. All of his immediate family live in MD, except my grandparents, who split their time between their house in MD and their house in WV, but the majority of the rest of them live in the Smoke Holes of WV.

The house up in WV belongs to Grandad D. It is a single floor home that sits atop 80 acres in the mountains of the Middle of Nowhere, WV. There are four bedrooms and a single bathroom. During Easter, there are four married couples and seven grandkids inhabiting this house (ie 15 people). Occasionally there might be a dog or two. All of the true adults get the bedrooms and all the kids get either the single cot, a couch, or the floor. The logistics of cramming 15 people in this tiny house get a little tricky during meals and when Kelly takes forever in the bathroom.

When I say this place is Middle of Nowhere, I seriously mean it. The closest major store is a Super WalMart that is open 24/7 and it's over an hour away. There's really nothing but rurally scattered houses and a shitload of churches in between. We also don't get cell reception within a two mile radius of the house.

Sometimes we would go up to WV because Dad would be installing something in the house, or helping out a cousin, or whatever. Back when I was a kid this house did not have air conditioning. It did not have cable. It did not have any games (except Monopoly, which you can't play by yourself). And it did not have a VCR. There were also no kids to play with, and even after my brother was born, we're seven years apart so it's not like you can have a two way interaction with an infant. West Virginia is seriously boring (though not as miserable as Cooperstown, NY). I ended up playing a lot of Gameboy and I read a ton of Goosebumps books. It's not nearly as bad now as it used to be, but jesus it sucked when I was a kid.

An odd part of the house is the third bedroom. It has the goddamn squeakiest bed known to man. The mattress rightfully belongs in a bouncy house and the awful squealing noise it makes when sat/slept upon  is enough so that I can't sleep on it because every time I move I re-wake myself up. For a long time my Grandma referred to it as the "Honeymoon Suite" and I never understood what she meant. The day that I actually understood the joke I was so horrified that I never wanted to touch that bed again.

One time when we were on our way up to WV for Easter, I got sick. I was pretty young (Danny wasn't around yet) so I'm not really sure what kind of disease I had, but I do remember throwing up all over the place. I accidentally threw up on my new white stuffed bunny that I had gotten for Easter that year, and I remember getting hysterical because I thought I had ruined it forever (bunnies are white; barf is not). From all the close quarters living I basically got the entire family sick. There were so many barf buckets around the house that week it wasn't even funny.

Several years ago Danny brought a friend with him to WV. I'm not really a fan of Whiner to begin with, but this really annoyed me. He's a year older than Danny so he was probably 10 or 11 when we invited him to head up the The Hills for the weekend. Problem is he neglected to tell us he gets car sick. Of all drives, the one to WV (especially while driving through the twisty turny mountains) is not exactly conducive to people who get car sick. Two hours in Whiner is puking all over the backseat of our minivan and himself. What is normally a four hour drive turned into an eight hour drive because we had to stop so Whiner could puke not in the car, and stop so his mom could call in anti-nausea drugs to the nearest WalMart (my family and WalMart obviously have some sort of deep connection).

There's also the D family reunion. Now, Mom's family, who hails from an equally backward Pennslytucky town knows how to throw a party* (ahem, I mean reunion). Dad's family, on the other hand, hosts the most awful family reunions. Since Dad's parents are both the youngest of many children, everybody who shows up is old. Old people don't do fun stuff, they just sit around and talk. There is no music, no dancing, and nobody close to my age. Think my parents age (~42) and up, and then 15 and younger. My first cousins on my Dad's side are my age, but they've long since gotten smart and make lame excuses on why they can't come. Unfortunately, my mother (who isn't even blood related to the family...wtf?) got suckered into being in charge of it, so I'm forced to go just about every year. Let me just put it this way: one of my somehow related adult relatives showed up to our family reunion in camouflage underarmour. Camouflage underarmour. At our family reunion. She also has a wonderful permed mullet, courtesy of 1985. She's super nice, but still, her wardrobe choices leave a lot to be desired (this is the same woman whose Christmas cards consist of her three daughters posing in their respective camouflage with the most recent buck they've shot). The most interesting thing to ever happen at a D Family Reunion was when a man named "Rabbit" (seriously) crashed our reunion. He closely resembled the miner from Toy Story 2 and he must've hollered "YYYYEEEEEEE-HHHAAAWWW" about 20 times. I swear I couldn't make this shit up.

*In comparison, S family reunions frequently consist of day drinking, night drinking, drinking, jumping into swimming pools from the roof, speaker-blowing music until 3am, dancing, my uncle dressing up and singing as Elvis, and the occasional 911 call.

Vacationator

Last week I spent a whole seven days with my family in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

It started with an 8 hour drive. Oh, how I love being cooped up in a minivan with my fellow family members (ie Mom, Dad, Danny). I spent most of it waffling between being bored and reading. The rest of my time was spent yelling at my brother to stop farting in the van and tweeting about how awkward the South is. See below:

10 miles of traffic on route 50....can hardly contain my joy at being shut up in a minivan with my family.


A loud grunt is not the noise you want to hear when you walk into the bathroom.


The girl who was in the stall next to me was on the phone bitching out her boyf. At first i thought she was talking to me. #awkward


Saw a sign for "Harnett County's largest McDonalds playplace". Attractions in #thesouth


"Cafe Risque: 24 hour topless bar. We dare to bare." Really? 24 hours?


Just found a self breast exam card in the minivan  #vacation


Just passed a house with 3 toilets sitting in the front yard #thesouth #vacation


As a further testimony to #thesouth, the following morning (a Sunday), I found myself in a Super Walmart at 6:30am with my Favorite Aunt, Grandma, and my Dad. They wanted to beat the 'rush' (who the hell rushes a Walmart on a non-Black Friday??) and I was bored enough to go with them. We were there so early that even the people who worked in the Walmart seemed confused to find us there. I must add that while browsing said Walmart (in the crafty section), I came across a pattern on how to make a muumuu for your dog. I will never understand legit Walmart shoppers. In perusing the book section I stumbled across the book written by the Duggar family (the 19 Kids and Counting people). They're like a freak show, you're horrified but intrigued at the same time. So I read that until my family came to get me. 


That was also the day in which I realized that I forgot to pack the fundamental thing you need to pack when going to the beach: a bathing suit. Way to fail. This prompted an emergency mall trip in which my dad fell asleep in the Books-A-Million and I tried on a bazillion suits in order to just find one that fit. 


On Monday I actually spent some time at the beach, though it's not like it's hard since my grandparent's timeshare is beachfront. While out in the ocean the following conversation occurred: 


Me: Danny, why are you wearing underwear underneath your swimtrunks?
Danny: Because last year I got stung in the nuts by a jellyfish.
Mom: *solemnly nods*
Me: .....Well OK then. 


On Monday night I decide to crack open some wine coolers we bought while trying to update my field journal for work. I decide that drinking and doing official stuff for work is the best idea ever. I also manage to get tipsy off of a single wine cooler. Well, at least I know my tolerance is also on vacation.


My Grandma tells me about the New York couple who have a son that just graduated from medical school. He's doing his residency at either Hopkins or UMD (can't remember), and he's single. I think Grandma mentioned that he was single at least five times. I also get to hear about the gossip from the rest of the people at the pool. See, my grandparents have had this timeshare since 1983. That means they come to the same hotel during the same week of every year. Their favorite thing to do is sit by the pool and talk to people, so I get to hear all the secondhand details, like Single Sonnyboy Doctor. 


One of the things I like least about our timeshare is the bathroom. I'm pretty sure the last time the fan in that thing was updated was 1991, because it sucks. The other problem is that the showerhead is so low that I have to bend backwards 45 degrees to get my hair under the water flow. It makes me wonder if people in #thesouth are super short or something. 


On Tuesday I FINALLY get to see Harry Potter 7v2. Love those gingers, a newly hot Neville, and when Voldemort uses "HUG" (It was Super Awkward). 


Then there was the night that my family decided to let me choose where we ate dinner. While googling good places to eat I come across a place called "Suck, Bang, Blow." Though I am thoroughly intrigued, I save it for another day when my brother is actually legal. Instead I settle for a Pancake Place, only to get there and find it's not open for dinner. Then my Dad drives us around for another 20 minutes saying that we need to go somewhere that my brother and I will both agree on. Poor choice. Danny and I nearly beat each other up arguing over where to eat. Choosing a place to eat is when our Functional Dysfunctionality is at its best. All four of us have extremely different food tastes and preferences so even having two of us agree is time consuming and a pain in the ass. After driving the entire highway up and down looking for food, I DEMAND we go to a pizza place. Gino's NY Style Pizza is a dinky little shop, but they made me the best chicken and pineapple pizza I've ever had. All four of us enjoyed it, so I was pretty proud of myself. 


I think that was also the day when my cousin's friend, English, who is in the Coast Guard, ended up teaching my brother and I some pressure point self defense type moves. This resulted in Danny frequently trying (and failing) to sneak up on me and incapacitate me for the rest of the week. 


The next day while looking in the kitchen cabinets for a snack I come across a can of squirty cheese. I am instantly horrified, and Scruff tells me that "squirty cheese is not cheese; it is a blight upon society.". So true. That night I decline an invitation by my parents to sit by the pool and drink. Instead I decide to drink in the hotel room and dance to the live music (there's a beach bar next to the pool with live music daily) on the back porch. I drink 3 wine coolers, but I think the time between last eating and then drinking was too much because I got super nauseated. When I felt a little better the idea of sending drunk postcards came to me. I didn't have quite enough alcohol for that, but rest assured I will write some drunk postcards eventually. 


Thursday my entire family (mom + me, + grandparents + aunt/uncle + cousin M & her fiance + friend of my other cousin) go to Steak and Shake. As this was my first time in a S&S, I was amazed to find it like a retro Friendly's. Previously I'd always though it was like a fast food type place. Learned something new, didn't I?


On Saturday morning I got up early to pack all my stuff. I thought I'd had everything but apparently I'd forgotten a pair of my dirty underwear. This really isn't my fault. I'd packed my stuff before Danny had packed his, and his giant pile of clothes was all over the place. His clothes were hiding mine, so I blame him. Anyway, Danny decides that it would be funny to run and grab said underwear, and then parade/throw it around the living room in front of my ENTIRE FAMILY plus English. While trying to chase him down I slipped on the carpet and fell on my sunburned hip. Sometimes my brother deserves to get his face punched in. 


Before we actually drove home I made my family attend the first annual Myrtle Beach Reptile Show. I had a good time and I thought that there were a lot of cool critters there. However, if you think somebody is going to buy a damn Snapping Turtle for $500, you're out of your damn mind. Snapping Turtles are some of the most ornery animals known to man, and taking off a finger is tiddlywinks to them. If I want a damn snapper so bad, I'm gonna go out and catch one myself with a can of tunafish and a net (aka $10). Also, whose idea was it to put a bar in a reptile convention? Poisonous snakes and booze: worst combination ever. Really? I blame it on #thesouth. 


Another thing I learned: Sam's Clubs in SC have liquor stores attached to them (!). One stop shopping is right. 




And that concludes my bullshit ranting. 


This post was brought to you by: Metalhead's request, Vladimir my MacBook Pro, and the letter I, for Insomnia because for some reason I can't seem to fall asleep. 

Halfway Holiday

It's getting to be that time of year again....CHRISTMAS (in july). I effing love Christmas, partly because of the family time and lovey-lovey-ness of it all, but (and let's get real here), PRESENTS is the real reason why people love Christmas.

Now, Christmas in my household is always nuts and it starts right after Thanksgiving. Being as it takes my mother 40% longer than normal people to do just about anything, the tree goes up early because it's going to stay up for a while. I believe the record for my family is the year the Xmas tree was up at Easter. Classy people we are, for sure.

Putting the Xmas tree up can go either one of two ways: if we all help it'll get done in a single night. If only Kelly is doing it, it'll take several weeks, generally culminating in a final family effort late Xmas eve so that there aren't various ornaments lying around on Xmas day. My dad refuses to help decorate the tree. He helps in his own way by making sure all of the Xmas lights work properly. Without fail, it involves a lot of cursing, in addition to bitching about why this family has to have both white lights and multicolored lights in addition to the large multicolored lights and garland. This is coming from the man who likes his Xmas trees with tinsel, which is honestly the glitter/herpes of Xmas decorations because that shit sticks around FOREVER. Even worse, it's a cat magnet. We already have enough problems with our cats attacking the lower hanging tree ornaments without adding some wiggling-in-the-breeze shiny things to the mix.

Then there are the ornaments. All four+ tubs of them. We have so many ornaments that Grammy had to give us her 9ft tree, because our old 6ft tree kept leaning more precariously every year. There are ornaments that I made in preschool, ornaments from when my mom was a kid, sports ornaments, Disney World ornaments, matching ornaments, candy canes--you name it and there's probably an ornament of it on our tree. The worst part is we're still acquiring about five ornaments a year. Without fail my aunt (the one that I don't really like all that much) gives all of her nieces and nephews Xmas ornaments for Xmas (how original). It's always those lamely generic Xmas icon ones from the middle-of-the-mall kiosk that have our names emblazoned on them. She keeps telling us it's "for our own Christmas trees one day". Like that shit's happening. I'll be damned if my future Xmas tree is going to be covered in ugly ornaments that have "SAMANTHA" all over them. I definitely don't want visitors to think that my tree is some sort of shrine to myself. I'm awkward but I draw the line at appearing to have designated the Xmas tree as my personal place of self-worship. Maybe I wouldn't mind as much if she splurged on a badass Hallmark ornament ('cause face it, those things up the swagger of a Xmas tree something serious), but that's not the case so I'm bitching about it.

There's always Dad's work Xmas party to look forward to (NOT), where 'kids' 18 and under get a present from Santa. There's a photo of me at 17 standing next to Santa (some skinny employee with an elastic beard), who is sitting down. Since I was wearing heels (which make me a little taller than 6ft), Santa's face is about level with my stomach. Instead of making me crush him by plonking down on his knees with my flat ass, Santa asked me if I had been good this year (yes...duh), shook my hand, and handed me an envelope with a Best Buy giftcard in it. It was super awkward. Since the party is usually in the beginning of December, I've been spared the embarrassment of attending since I started college. I'm not sure which is worse, having nobody even near my age to talk to, or watching the one family with 10+ kids continue to reproduce (I swear they rival the 19 Kids and Counting family). Not to mention awkwardly meeting my Dad's coworkers who I only see at this party. It's just weird.

Somehow we eventually make it to Xmas eve, which we always spend with my Dad's family by going to Grandma's house. Everybody brings some noms and we eat and carry on and then open presents, going from youngest to oldest. For years and years Grandma got me (and the rest of the grandkids) underwear for Xmas. And it wasn't just normal underwear. No, when I was younger it was Barbie underwear (I loathed Barbies), and when I got older she gave me Granny Panties. I don't understand how she could so grossly overestimate my size. I mean, I know I'm a little chunkadunk, but come on! One year I got underwear that was so large I could literally wear them for a bra and underwear at the same time. The moment that it got to be too far was the year when I got stuck with gross granny panties (yet again), and my much skinnier cousins (who are aprx the same age as me) got thongs. Not that I wear thongs*, but I was indignant that Grandma would treat her grandkids unequally like that. And I was a little jealous too. OK, I was a lot jealous. When I look back I'm a little mad at myself that I was jealous over thongs, especially thongs that probably came from WalMart, but that's the angsty teenage years for you.

*A few years later I tried out thongs for real. I bought a thong because my friend convinced me that I couldn't say I didn't like it until I'd tried it. Well, I wore that hibiscus thong around the house for two hours before my ass had had enough. Panty lines are worth every second that I don't have to dig my underwear out of my asscrack.

After we open presents on Xmas Eve we go to Church. My family unit is not religious. Sometimes Kelly likes to entertain the idea of being Baptist (as if), but let me tell you that I could give a shit less, and so could Dad and Danny. Dad's family, on the other hand, regularly attends church and his brother's family are the type that are super involved in youth group and choir (aka my Bible thumping cousins). We are definitely the Black Sheep of the family, if you couldn't tell. But on Xmas Eve the whole family goes, so we go. For the first 10 years of my life or so, it was the only other time we ever went to church besides Easter. After that it was the only time I went to church (until Kelly went on a Jesus binge during my middle school years). I tolerate the Xmas sermon, mostly because the Christmas Story never ever changes (it's the same pastor every year), and because secretly, I'm a mother fucking pyro and I LOVE lighting the candles during Silent Night and then getting wax all over the place. I loved it when I was a kid and I still like that part now. Last year my Dad added a new twist into the mix when he got bored during the sermon and we had a trying-to-blow-the-other-person's-candle-out fight. Kelly glared daggers at us the whole time because we were "embarrassing her". It's possible, since my Dad and I couldn't stop giggling about it like a couple of 5-year-olds. I deemed it the best Christmas Eve sermon I have ever attended.

We get home, go to bed, and then the real magic starts.

Confession time here: I believed in Santa until I was 13. I was that kid, the one that insists that Santa is real even when her friends are telling stories of stumbling upon their parents putting out presents while on a midnight potty run. I don't feel so bad about it, mostly because my brother also believed in Santa until last year (he's 14). The main reason I held my conviction for so long stems from a Christmas Eve night when I was 5 or 6 years old. Now I realize that it was probably raining, but at the time my juvenile mind heard pitter-patter noises and immediately thought that there were reindeer on top of the roof. My conviction on Santa held until I became too hard to buy for and my parents started letting me pick out my own presents, which showed up under the tree as, "To: Samantha, From: Santa". After that I just felt super stupid because I'm sure my friends thought I was an idiot.

Even after I stopped believing in Santa I still had to play along for my brother. We still left cookies for Santa (as a mean joke I would put out the stalest and grossest cookies I could find in our pantry) and "Santa" still left us a letter on the paper plate that formerly held cookies. The letter always told my brother and I to behave ourselves, and there was always a a note in there for me to 'stop talking back to my parents'. Thanks, Santa. On occasion, if Danny gave me trouble while I was babysitting him, I would 'call' Santa on my cell and tell him about all the horrible stuff Danny had been up to. In reality, the phone wasn't even calling anybody, but Danny didn't know that.

The worst part of Xmas is undoubtably the photos. Until I was taller than Santa (ie 13), my Mom made me (and later Danny) sit on Santa's lap in the mall and pose for a picture. If there is anything wrong about a young girl being hesitant to sit on a sketchy old bearded man's lap, then sue me. I hated sitting on Santa's lap. So much in fact, that Kelly used to have to bribe me to do it. Usually it was with $20 or so, but there were no set terms on what my face had to look like in the photo. Generally I was scowling. Or giving a really fake smile. Because I am classy as hell.

Finally, we return to the best part of Xmas: the presents. I've gotten some awesome presents over the years, including: my 1st cell phone! (2005), a basketball hoop (1995), a bike (1998), Guitar Hero (2007), a new laptop (2009, to replace the one I had just broken) and more books than I can count (every year!). On the flip side, if I don't give my parents explicit instructions on what I want for Christmas, I get stuff like this: mechanical air pump (2010), 20 shirts--all of which were practically identical but in different colors/patterns (2001), a group of size 18 clothes (2000, I wear a size 14), ugly watches (07/08/09), and an assortment of other weird stuff that might eventually make its way back to the spare gift bag in Kelly's  closet.

My family doesn't have many traditions, but of the few we do have a bunch of them focus on Xmas. First off, we always film Xmas. We've done this every year that I can remember. Most years it's kind of dull. I can't imagine that in 20 years I'm going to want to watch myself open gifts at 12. But occasionally there's some weird thing that happens, like my brother calling someone a "fag" and subsequently the entire family yells, "DAN-NY!". It's on video.

On Christmas morning my Dad always makes breakfast. And not just normal breakfast. I'm talking a five-person operation of multiple burners, a griddle, the toaster, and the oven. Breakfast includes: scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, bacon, fried ham, sausage, biscuits, toast, cinnamon rolls, and orange juice. I have to say he's pretty good at cooking breakfast for a man who never eats breakfast.

Generally I spend the next 3 hours in a food coma. I love Christmas.

White Trash Points, as of some time in April

Me:
+50 for being Sam
+3 "can I put cans in the microwave?"
+10 "I love lunchables"
+3 sprinkles
+3 pizza with ketchup
+30 "pudgies tastes the same going down and coming back up"
-2 turning down nutella
-1/2 salad
+5 chinese battle men = samurais
+15 combining wine and sparkling cider
+5 rust is not an element
+10 poop
+1 collecting box tops
+5 flipflops & smartwool socks
+2 microwaving cookie dough
+10 sunday afternoon drinking time
+3 driving with no shoes on
-3 liking Boyf's tofu

Metalhead
+5 birkenstocks & socks
+10 sunday afternoon drinking time
+5 making google translate read porn
-5 decent Russian accent
+5 sweeping dirt under fridge

Chef
+5 eating in his room so he "can watch tv"
+3 being too lazy to give Sam points
+2 "I love Walmart"
+10 domestic abuse (he accidentally hit Metalhead in the nose with a hockey stick and caused her to have a bloody nose)
+2 stripping in the CouchBoat

Giraffes
+10 footie pajamas
+10 for not wearing underwear in them
+10 Sunday afternoon drinking time
+5 farting on command
+8 trying to light her farts on fire & almost lighting herself on fire
+15 trading sex for a burrito ("the burrito was better than the sex")

Pillow talk

I'm not sure if I have ever mentioned this before, but my Mom sleep-talks. Generally I like to think of sleeptalking as the compliment to snoring; unavoidable and irrelevant, so not worth talking about. But Kelly's sleeptalking is a little more....interesting.

To begin with, Kelly is a very heavy sleeper. She also frequently complains about how realistic her dreams are. She'll mention something in passing that she thinks I did, and then when I'm like, wtf Mom? she'll realize she dreamed about it and it didn't really happen. Because of these crazy dreams her sleep talking is often kind of funny.

Just last night, she woke my dad up at 2am, screaming, yelling at him to "get the spiders off me!". Kelly is absolutely terrified of spiders. When asked if he was worried when Mom woke him up with her screaming Dad responded, "Scared? Hell no, I was pissed off! She woke me up at two in the morning screaming about spiders! I told her, 'there are no damn spiders on you Kelly! Go back to sleep.' "

When I was a senior in high school I was being an insomniac one night when all of a sudden I heard Mom go (from the other end of the hallway), "Mike!.....MIKE!....GET THE WEEDWACKER!" ...and then silence. It was probably after 2am.

But the crowning moment of Mom's sleeptalking is the Bear Story. I had stayed up late working on a school project and everyone else was already in bed and asleep. My bathroom was being repainted at the time so I had been taking showers in my parent's bathroom. I had stepped out of the shower, put on a towel, and I had just flicked the lights off and was walking through my parents bedroom (to get to the hallway) when Mom suddenly goes, "OH SHIT!". Immediately I freeze. My first thought is that Mom saw a burglar or something. The next thought is along the lines of how I really don't want to be mugged while wearing nothing but a towel. Naked muggings are no bueno. I'm still frozen and listening when the next thing I hear is Kelly say, in a country drawl, is "I'llllll get dem bears!.........fuckin' grizzlies" and then I hear her roll over and start snoring. I think I just about died laughing.

The Chronicles of Steve II

So Steve, my Grandad, is at is again. This time he hurt himself working out in the yard by straining some oh his back muscles. He went inside to take some of Grammy's pain pills. He popped them in his mouth and grabbed a cup on the counter to wash them down with. He had already drank half the cup when he realized he was drinking dish soap. He later told me he thought he was dying.


My other Grandad, Charles, also had his moment in the WTFuckery column this month. Both Grandads are diabetic, but Charles does not and never has handled his diabetes very well. He wrecked my Grandmother's car (again) because he was having a low blood sugar. A state trooper stopped to make sure he was OK. Well, when his sugar gets low Charles becomes a nasty SOB and gets completely belligerent. Even worse, he refuses to wear a medical alert bracelet so that people will realize he's diabetic in case he needs help. So he ended up getting belligerent with the state trooper and actually kicked him the balls. My 70-something year old grandfather, who is only 5-7, kicked a state trooper in the balls. Then the state trooper wrestled him to the ground and handcuffed him, and then took him to the hospital.

And you people wonder where I get it from. I swear there's a WTF gene in my family.

Sanctuary: Week 1

This was my first week at my summer internship in a Wetlands Sanctuary near my house. It's the first time I've ever had a 8+ hour a day job and I have to say it's pretty tiring, but SO FUN.

Essentially my job for the summer is to help work on the Maryland Herp Atlas. The Herp Atlas is a survey that aims to measure what herps (snakes, turtles, lizards, frogs, & salamanders) exist in Maryland, and approximately where they exist. The last data that MD has on what herps are where is from 1975, which is to say, extremely outdated. In a nutshell I get to run around the woods looking for critters.

As it was, my first day I saw a Snapping Turtle as I was driving in to the Sanctuary. I was 15 minutes early, but ended up sitting there by myself for a good 30 minutes because my new boss, Chris, was a little late. I just made friends with Richard, the old maintenance man, who apparently knows my uncle. Weird.

Day 1 consisted of my intro the Sanctuary and a tour around some of the trails. I learned the difference between American and Fowler's toads, which is cool because I thought toads were only a single species.

Fowler's Toad, dorsal view

Fowler's Toad, ventral view

So the main differences are: 
1. Fowler's Toads have more than 3 warts in each black spot
2. The ridge right behind the eye of the frog (it's about 90 degrees) nearly touches the eye on Fowler's Toads. On American Toads there's a wider gap.
3. American Toads have a very spotted belly
4. American Toads have large warts on their tibia.

Eastern Fence Lizard

I saw a bunch of skinks and got acquainted with the 3 three-legged captive Box Turtles that Sanctuary keeps out back. There are bunch of skinks around and Eastern Fence Lizards. I got to help set up mist nets for bird banding. We also checked some of the cover boards out in the Meadow and saw a Black Rat Snake.

Snapping Turtles

Day 2: I got to go bird banding (and be there at 6:45am) with Chris and a bunch of volunteers. Sandy and Mike are the two guys in charge of the banding (for a project called MAPS); they are older gents and total BAMFs. The first thing I saw when I got to the Sanctuary were two Snapping Turtles digging nests/laying eggs. Then we set off. Seventeen mist nets, checking them once every 40 minutes or so. We checked them six times, walking seven miles in the process. We ended up catching:
a couple cardinals
Acadian Flycatcher
Red-eyed Vireo
Summer Tanager
Ovenbird
Swainsons Thrush
Veery
Common Yellowthroat
Wood Thrush
Downy Woodpecker.

Swainson's Thrush (see yellow eye ring?)

Eastern Wormsnake

We also heard a Prothonatary Warbler, saw a Bog Turtle, and caught a Wormsnake.

During our second round of checking nets, we realized that there was a fawn chillin' out right next to a tree we had been literally walking right next too. As soon as somebody said something, we scared her. She was so small that she wobbled about 20 feet away and nestled down in a downed branch.

Fawn (right in the center)

Red-bellied Turtle & Box Turtle

On our last check of the nets we came across a Box Turtle and a Red-bellied Turtle. What Chris (aka new boss) calls Red-bellied Turtles are actually better known as Red-bellied Cooters. He sort of admitted that he's uncomfortable with using the word 'Cooter', which I found somewhat amusing. Chris is the Director of the Sanctuary and he's a nice guy, but definitely has a bumbly air about him. 

Day 3: Saw a large Red-belly digging a nest as I walked into the office. We notched it's shell (turtles have ~24 scutes on their shell that the Sanctuary notches in a special code so that people can fill out reports when they see a specific turtle) and gave a quick demonstration to a 3rd grade school group that was visiting. While letting the Red-belly go I came across a Box Turtle in the Meadow. Chris is something of an expert on Box Turtles and most of the ones in the Sanctuary have notched shells. The cool thing about Box Turtles is that the color patterns on their plastrons (the bottom part of their shells) are unique to each turtle, like reptile zebras. 

Box Turtle from the Meadow

plastron of Box Turtle

 So I took a picture and looked up that specific turtle by it's shell code and the picture I took of its plastron. This was turtle #262 with code L3R3R10.

Later in the day Chris and I started talking about what I wanted to research this summer. Every intern has to do a research project and I'm thinking about doing mine either on skinks or toads. In order to do research on skinks, you have to be able to catch them. If you've ever seen a skink or attempted to catch one, you know it's like trying to catch rainbows. Skinks are super shy and very skittish animals. One way to catch lizards in general is with a noose. Chris made me one so that I could go practice my noosing skills.

My practice noose is made with dental floss and a broken wooden pole from something or other. Very classy, truly. I then spent about an hour and a half down by the water looking for skinks to try and capture with my makeshift noose.

You creep up slowly and then VERY slowly bring the noose closer and closer to the skink and once you get the noose around it's neck, you pull up and enclose their neck in the noose. It doesn't hurt the lizard (very much, I don't think), and it certainly doesn't kill them. It just immobilizes them long enough for you to get your hands on one.

Mud Turtle basking in the bog

5-lined Skink in forest (failed at catching this one)

I attempted to catch six skinks. I failed every single time. Noosing is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Apparently it takes a lot of practice. 

At one point, I almost caught a Northern Watersnake in my noose, but another snake swam by and spooked the first snake. And then I stepped in the wrong place and almost fell into the bog, which would have totally sucked. As it was I submerged one of my boots and had to change into the spare sandals I kept in my car. 

Spider from the sink

Day 4: Chris had a meeting in Annapolis, so I spent the morning renumbering the mist nets and getting lost because they're not in order and there's no map to go by. One of the first things I saw was this giant ass spider chillin' out in the bathroom sink. Nearly had a heart attack because I just wasn't expecting it. I saw a bright red bird with black wings which I later found out was a Scarlet Tanager. Pretty distinct, that's for sure. 

While I was renumbering a net particularly close to the water a Great Blue Heron flew right over my head while calling. Pretty cool stuff. I helped out on a nature walk with a school group (naming trees and stuff) and realized that it's kind of difficult to tell the difference between Maple and Sweet Gum leaves when I've never seen a sweet gum and they're both shaped like stars. Something to work on, I guess. One of the kids found a small Gartersnake in the roots of a tree, which was probably the coolest thing they'd ever seen. 

Green Frog

 Later we also came across a Bog Turtle poking its head out of the water and a Green Frog.

After lunch Chris and I drove to an old farm that the county had recently purchased to do some searching for the Atlas. It was a pretty untouched area with lots of life in it, but it was really hot (around 90 degrees) and most herps like it a bit cooler, so we didn't find much.

One awesome find was the Spotted Salamander we found hiding under a log. They're so chunky and cool lookin'.

Spotted Salamander (we put it on some moss for contrast)

Gartersnake near roots of tree

There hasn't been a Day 5 yet because Friday was a furlough day and tomorrow is Labor Day (Holla at my 4-day weekend!). I'm excited though, because the other two interns start on Tuesday. Weirdly enough they're BOTH named Holly. I hope they're cool. 

In other news, my mosquito bite count for 4 days: 73. Ticks: 2. Even though I absolutely hate it, I think insect repellant might have to be a must. 

Metalhead's 21st Birthday

I'm starting to write this at 1:53am on Saturday May 21st. Metalhead turned 21 tonight. And what a marvelous event it was. 

Upon arriving at Chappies (da bar) she was immediately served a whiskey sour, a shot of gin (she loves gin) and a Long Island Iced Tea. Fifteen minutes later those were gone and she had another host of drinks including a Melon Ball, an amaretto something or other, and 2 beers. At around 12:25 all the alcohol finally hit her and she just got drunker from then on. Soon after this, she literally let out a primal scream loud enough for the ENTIRE BAR to stare at her like some sort of demon, and then she licked my arm. 

In the course of an hour, Metalhead managed to lick, bite, grope, punch, and bitch slap me. She was super drunk (all is forgiven) but I will definitely have some hand prints in the morning. She also managed to stuff at least three handfulls of popcorn down the front of my shirt. Quite forcefully, I might add. 

As she got drunker, I (and the rest of our friends who were there) took advantage of her borderline OCD to rearrange her three drinks that looked to be in volume order. She flipped a shit when she discovered that they weren't as she left them and said "NNNOOOOOOOOO!!!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!??? THEY NEED TO BE IN FUCKING RAINBOW ORDER!" We must have altered the order of her drinks about three times and every time got the same reaction. Metalhead response to nearly everything was "I WILL SHIT ON YOU (or IN YOUR BED)."

Another quote "I DON'T HEAR ANY WORDS YOU GUYSSSSS" after we had all been talking to her. 

Even though she had to literally be coached through the last two drinks, I'm pretty impressed with the amount she was able to handle. No doubt, she was drunker than I've ever seen her and it was hilarious. ("You think I'm drunk as fuck? WAIT TILL I STAND UP!" - drunk Metalhead). The last drink definitely did her in though, as she ended up puking it up into about 5 beer glasses while still sitting at the table. She put all of these puke-infused glasses under the table. She giggled about leaving her puke under the table for at least 20 minutes, then spent the next 20 minutes super paranoid that Chappies will never let her come there again because she left puke under the table. Even though she did puke, I'm pretty damn impressed that she got the vast majority of it into those beer glasses. Better in there than on the floor. 

On the walk home, Metalhead

-ran into a fire hydrant

-decided to start sprinting up the sidewalk, and I had to run after her to make sure she didn't die

-stopped to wait for everyone to catch up with us, and decided that it was "Sleep Time" and just lay down on the sidewalk. 

-saw a firework somebody let off, stared up at it and said, "LIKE A BAWWWSS!"

-attempted to break down our front door and nearly fell on her face when she discovered it was actually unlocked

-ran upstairs and locked herself in her room, then unlocked it because our friend Jeff had to pee off her front porch

-tried to ride down the banister

-right after she said she was going to bed (I had just gone up to my room), I heard some doors slam and then I heard her scream "YEEAAAHHHH MANNNNN!!!!!!" off her front porch. 

Sadly, although she was pretty damn drunk she avoided all of my attempts to get her to be drunkenly social. At one point she wanted to text her sister but couldn't find her phone. Boyf had already told her he was turning his phone off. What a shame. 

Although she sobered up a bit once we got home, she was still slurring her words and couldn't speak English half the time. No capitaleest peeg dawgs for her. 

I'm sure I'll remember more stories as the day goes on. 

Hoarding

Metalhead has insinuated that I am a hoarder. This is totally false. Hoarding is characterized by not being able to get rid of anything. I totally get rid of stuff. I just haven't cleaned out my stuff lately, thanks. :P

I know that I keep stuff that I really shouldn't, but mostly this stems from my environmental compulsion to never throw anything useful away. Mostly it's just me not wanting perfectly fine stuff to go sit in a landfill. I feel guilty when useful things sit in landfills.

Kelly is not so fortunate. My madre has what her counselor calls "an emotional attachment to stuff". She's pretty bad about keeping anything and everything that ever meant anything to her at all. I'm talking bikinis from high school, old Home & Garden magazines, and other various shit. Now, I keep a lot of stuff, but it's stuff that I intend to do something with or stuff that I actually use AND it's mostly contained in my room. Kelly just keeps stuff because she can't stand giving it up and not being able to control what happens after it leaves her possession. Plus her stuff is essentially the entire house.

Take, for example, when I decided to clean out our basement two years ago. We have lived in our house since 1998 and we now have more shit than we know what to do with, so it was about time that somebody tackled that hoarding den that is the lower floor. I came across a box full of Kelly's notebooks from middle, high school and community college. When I took them upstairs to throw them in the recycle bin she had an absolute fit and refused to let me do away with the damn things. I mean, these are notebooks full of writings my mom will never, ever use again. Do you think she knows anything about chemistry or the Latin class she took her freshman year of high school (and failed)? Hell no. Has she touched that box of notebooks in the last 10 years? Yeah right. That, ladies and gents, is a hoarder. Her reason for keeping them stemmed from the "poetry and journals" she wrote in them. Jesus mother, tearing out a couple of pages with your angsty teen diary entries is not that goddamn hard. There is no need to keep an entire notebook that is sucking up space in our already cramped basement so that you can save your stupid doodles. We ended up getting into an argument that-- I kid you not -- consisted of us performing tug of war  with a notebook. My father was just sitting in the LayZBoy looking at us like we're nuts. This ended with the recycling of about half the notebooks, and keeping the rest.

Mike the bystander is not so innocent either, he of the can't-find-it-let's-go-buy-a-new-one mentality is another contributor to the household junk pile. There's a giant metal desk that has been sitting in our basement since at least 1999 that he brought home from work. It's still got the plastic on it and everything, but nobody has ever used it. Right now it's just a platform to put more stuff on. He also has this mental disease where he can't resist free stuff. WHY do we need four stress balls shaped like grapes? What about the three kinds of omelette makers? Or the rotisserie chicken cooker that we used once? He brings home so much crap that we don't need and will never use that it's not even funny. It's just a pain in my ass.

The most recent manifestation of this was when I cleaned out our cupboard. Since we moved into our house we've had a coffee maker in the corner of the kitchen. Mike is the only person who actually drinks coffee in the house and he never uses it. Why? Because he loves 7-Eleven coffee and is on a first-name basis with the people who work there. I've never seen him use this coffee maker. The only time it does see use is when we have guests over who want coffee, and even then only occasionally. Usually dad will just go out and get a large thing of coffee from Dunkin Donuts or something. So anyway, I took the coffee maker to the basement because nobody ever uses it and we need the counter space. I also sorted through all the mugs we had because nobody ever uses mugs either (except for hot chocolate) and we had about 50 for four people. I mean, you can only use one flipping mug at a time (and even still, double fisting hot chocolate will bring you to eight) and even with a bunch of guests that number is definitely excessive. So I took about 15 mugs to Goodwill. It took Kelly about three days to figure out something was a little off about the dishes cabinet, and then she didn't speak to me for three days she was so mad. This is the kind of shit I deal with.

Since I've been in college, I've actually gotten much much better about not keeping useless things. I would say about 60% of my stuff is books or clothes, and since my friend Tiedye is about the same size as me (just shorter, with bigger gazongas) I give her all of my clothes that I don't wear anymore, and take anything she doesn't want to goodwill. I would probably also attribute it to reading No Impact Man, which is a book that was made into a documentary. It's about a guy who lives in NYC who tries to live a no impact life with his wife and daughter for a year. It's super funny, and it made me realize that my house had all this stuff sitting around that no one was using. My general rule is that if it's been sitting around for a year and no one has used it, get it the hell outta here. Except then it sets off WWIII with Kelly. Whatever. I'll probably be moving out in a few years anyway.

Internet wins at life, the rest of us lose

The internet is a dangerous place. And I'm not just talking sketchy pedophiles or craiglist personal ads. In an extremely rough guestimate I would postulate that the internet is the Number 1 sucker-upper of my time. Nobody wins at internet. You can only lose.

Take, for example, today. I returned to Estate around 12:30 after having been so tired from field crumpets yesterday that I nearly passed out during Drinking Jeopardy. [Sidenote: I also went to the movies and saw Your Highness last night. It was appropriately stupid with sporadic awesome moments and not nearly enough half naked Natalie Portman. Also, it used the phrase 'the fuckening' and I'm still trying to wrap my head that particular phrase]. I most definitely passed out on Sushi's futon last night post-Drinking Jeopardy while watching Sex in Ancient Egypt on the History Channel. But I digress. I got home, took out the compost, made mashed potatoes, then watched two episodes of Modern Family with Giraffes, then I got on my computer.

Now, I have a Human Sexuality paper due on Thursday. I have beta alpha nu delta events Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, as well as zumba tomorrow, IM volleyball on Wednesday, and a toga party that is happening at my house on Friday to prepare for.

In fact, I just took a 20 minute interlude from that last paragraph to check facebook, twitter, my email, and yahoo!.

See what I mean? It's like a disease or something.

I'm not sure what I did before the internet happened, but I'm sure it was a hellava lot more productive than what I get done now. From the research I was doing for my paper I have three sources, only two of which count for the required eight from peer reviewed journals. That is what I've gotten since 12:30, and it's not like my topic (why abstinence-only education in schools doesn't work) is something obscure and I'm having a hard time finding sources. No. I just have such internet ADD that I can't focus on one thing for too long because then I become obsessed with checking facebook. And from there I get engrossed in stalking somebody's pictures and creeping on people who I was friends with in high school. If they gave grades for internet stalking I'd be getting A's for sure.

The Big Four for me include Yahoo! (my shit email), Twitter, Gmail, & Facebook. Every time I sit at a computer these four sites are pulled up. At least an hour of my day goes to keeping my internet life updated and/or getting updated on the internet lives of my friends.

If I'm feeling particularly time waste-worthy, I hit up Neatorama, Todaysbigthing, or watch Apple movie previews. If I'm purposely avoiding work I usually go with Sporcle or Word Bubbles. That's only if YouTube doesn't get to me before then. Then there's the funny sites like textsfromlastnight, fmylife, damnyouautocorrect, regretsy, crapatmyparentshouse, and asiansleepinginthelibrary. The list is literally endless.

What's even worse is that they aren't isolated. Half the time somebody posts a youtube video on facebook, and then I get sucked into wikipedia, and it just continues on from there.

What truly sucks is that both school and the Internet is on my computer. Most papers have to be typed, or researched, or Blackboarded, or whatever and when the internet is RIGHT THERE and my self control is totally gone there is nothing between me and Time Wasting Time.

And it's not just me. Metalhead actually has "CONCENTRATE" written on her computer because she #1, played over 1000 games of solitaire in January alone, but #2 has a tumblr and spends time on that and being addicted to various metal blogs. It's an EPIDEMIC. GUARD YOUR BRAINNSSSS.

As it is, I'm being TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY PRODUCTIVE by wasting more time blogging about how much time I waste.

There is seriously something wrong with me.

Internet: 1 Sam: 0

The Down There

Having just seen the Vagina Monologues for the first time a couple weeks ago, I feel that an ode to my Down There is in order. Maybe not so much as an ode as it is an excuse to talk about the gynecologist.

[Side note: the Vag Monologues was an amazing experience. If you have never gone before I highly suggest going. It's pretty exhilarating, and you'll leave wanting to go and shout about vaginas to the world. Just go see it.]

Today the lecture in Human Sexuality was all about sexual health, which is why I even thought of this in the first place.

So, the gyno. It is literally the most awkward thing that I have to do on a yearly basis. I first started going when I was 15. Kelly made me go. Her excuse was that Grammy made her go when she was 15. Whatever, that shit was wack. You're supposed to start going when you turn 18 or when you become sexually active. Since neither of those were true at the time I thought it was ridiculous that I had to go. In truth, it terrified the living shit out of me. I got that feeling of absolute dread when you know you have to do something that you REALLY don't want to do. My stomach was in knots and I didn't sleep well for at least a week before the appointment.

It was probably not as awful as I'd expected it to be, but still bloody terrible. First of all, my Mom has been going to the same doctor since forever, and when she walked into the doctor's office with me for the first time there were all these doctors that she knew. She introduced me to this one guy who had basically delivered me, and he made something along the lines of what everybody says when they know my mom and are meeting me for the first time. It's a combination of 'wow you've gotten big' and 'Damn Kelly, just yesterday she was a toddler' and 'time just flies, doesn't it?'. Except that this guy had been there when I popped out of the womb so it was a little bit more awkward. I'm not sure how to respond in these instances so I just smile and nod like I'm totally thrilled to be talked about like I don't exist or commented upon like a nice piece of cheese.

Then I had to go in for a pelvic exam. Sitting naked on a table with nothing but my socks on was incredibly nerve wracking for my high school freshman self. I was probably having heart palpitations. Yeah, I was wearing one of the craptacular paper robes, but those aren't even remotely close enough to actual garments to be considered clothes so I was naked except for my socks. Why they let me wear my socks, I don't know.

So I get a lovely pelvic exam. Speculums are just about the weirdest contraptions ever. They sort of look like torture instruments. They sort-of-kind-of-but-not-really are torture instruments. And they're really fucking cold too. And I'm not sure what kind of lube they've been using in my doctors office, but ever time I leave my vajayjay could be a friggin Slip-N-Slide for how much they slather on me.

And then there's the breast exam. As if it's not awkward enough for some old lady to be investigating my nether regions, she has to get to second base too. The most awkward part about it is the fact that I'm SUPER ticklish just about everywhere, including my boobs. So, basically the doctor feels me up and I have to just try not to have giggle spasms everywhere.

As if having someone eyeball your cooch isn't enough fun, there was the time that I passed out in the gynecologists office.

I went in for the first HPV shot (no pelvic exams for that day). The nurse led me to one of the rooms and swabbed my arm up and everything. She gave me the shot, and I remember that it was really cool because the needle was like spring loaded or something. It was a badass syringe. Then the nurse tells me that I'm good to go, so I get up and walk down the hallway. Except once I'm in the hallway my hearing feels really muffled and I wonder why. I walk out into the lobby where my mom is chatting with the receptionist. I make it to a spot next to her, and by this time I'm seeing black spots. All I can think about is the black spots remind me of cows. Then I realize my mom is looking at me like there's something wrong. I hear her insistently say, "Are you okay?" and I thought that I answered that yeah, I was totally fine, but apparently I just stared at her like she was speaking chinese or something. I don't remember this happening but apparently one eye rolled up and the other rolled sideways, and then I was down for the count.

I came in a chair with several doctors hovering over me taking my pulse and handing me a cup of water. I felt totally fine. Apparently I just had a really rare reaction to the HPV shot. The entire walk back to the car Kelly kept sneaking glances at me. I think she was afraid that I was going to up and die on her at any second. But that was it, nothing else happened after that.

Except that I got the same nurse for round II of the HPV shot, and that time she made me lie down for 10 minutes post injection. How embarrassing.

And while on the topic of the Southern Hemisphere, can I just complain about 'feminine hygiene products'? They're goddamn expensive. Why can't the government subsidize them? It's a natural bodily function that is nearly guaranteed to happen, so why do we have to pay for it? I'm calling bullshit.

Now for story time: when I was 14 and just getting used to using pads and stuff, I attempted to borrow one of Kelly's tampons. I inserted it like I thought you were supposed to, and I went around for a couple hours wearing one but I couldn't figure out why it was so uncomfortably painful. Turns out the cardboard is NOT supposed to stay in there. Whoops.

More texts (this time from my phone)

From Sketch:
2/4 10:24pm: FREE SCOTCH! IT IS SO WARM IN HERE
2/4 10:25pm: YOU WIN777777
2/4 10:32pm: I DONKEY PUNCHED JELLY KOE. IM IN NY NO PAUNCH HERE YO. HAVE FUN.

From Soxhat:
2/5 1:30am: All I hear from you is blahblahblah pangolin

The following were all received while I was in the movie theater watching I am Number Four on 2/18:
Sketch: 11:33pm: WINE
Scruff: 11:34pm: Dear samantha, this is your drunk text. Our wine tasting has devolved somewhat but we are eating goat cheese and crumpets. Impressed? You should be.
Sushi: 12:28am: im drunkkkkkkkk
Scruff: 12:29am: It may also be relevant that i am drunk. Also liz says hello again, and that she hopes you enjoyed j biebs in three dee.


From Mom:
3/5: Ok. Taiping it
(proof of her spelling fails)

From Sarah

2/19, (on stalking her boyf) 10:27pm: i am def video chatting w him and just informed him that you are currently stalking him

3/7: katy perry is destroying america
3/7: hah yes i watched the 'hot gay guy' version. i still blame katy perry.
3/9: we are so getting fired when we gets back
3/16: that is degrading to turkeys

3/18: you should start writing childrens books
3/18 Me: I would only target it to badass children

From Giraffes:
3/9: We're talking about electrons as billiard balls hitting each other and i can't help but think about my eggs rolling around and smacking into one another.
3/12 11:53pm: Drunk atext durnk text ajtrik texgt
3/13 12:01am:Thats yyyyyyyyy nale they call me jane noooo thays not my bame!!!!

From Scruff (on my really drunk voicemail I left him)
3/13 Thank you, by the way, for that fantastic voice mail.

From Wahwuh:
3/17 11:54am:  ahhhhhhhhhhhh alarm clock faaaaaaailllll im in my BED!!! fuck ill be there soon (foreal this time lol no more "5 more minutes")
3/18 12:12am: thanks for the punch and shotttttt (nomonomnomnommmmmm)
12:23am: drunk text for sammmmmm hh:::: the advantagoues aardvark likes fucksicles and some socks

From Captain Longballs
3/18 1:55am: We found a male asian version of you

From Scruff:
3/18 1:58am: At this point you probably don't care, but jen confirms that women with dark skin still have nipple color change during pregnancy.

3/19
Me: the next animal you draw on my wall should be a Vadger
Sketch: Vagina + badger?
Sketch: Badgina?

Texts from yours truly.

I don't totally remember sending all of these, but this just reinforces my idea that I am a textic genius.

http://sam394.wordpress.com/2011/03/10/random-texts-sam-sends-me-part-i/


http://sam394.wordpress.com/2011/03/20/random-texts-sam-sends-me-part-ii/

Stupid fights

My parents are probably the weirdest married couple I've ever met. I don't know what it is about their personalities but they just fight about some of the dumbest shit ever. For example, the most classic example is the house thermostat.

Mike is probably the most penny pinching man with a three-figure salary that I know. My father is so ridiculous that he steals ketchup packets and napkins from fast food places. Seriously, we haven't bought napkins in years. At the peak of his thriftyness, we would wait until there was literally nothing but pasta and canned vegetables in the house and then go mass grocery shopping after cutting coupons en masse and grabbing all the sale papers. Then we would go out and hit like five grocery stores to get the best of what each store had to offer. It drove Kelly nuts and eventually rising gas prices stopped those extreme measures, but anyway, you get the point.

In summer the thermostat in my house is usually set to 63 degrees. Kelly likes it to be at 62. They have literally had angry blow-out fights over one goddamn thermostat degree. I'm talking like to the point where they don't speak to each other for a couple of days. Dad gets angry because his argument is that you can't really feel a one degree difference, but your bill will reflect a one degree difference. Kelly, who is going through early pre-menopausal symptoms (ie hot flashes) disagrees on both counts and insists that one degree makes all the difference and that she refuses to 'sweat in her own house'.

So what basically ends up happening is this: Dad leaves at 5am to go to work and doesn't get home until about 3pm. Whenever Kelly makes it out of bed (she is notorious for sleeping in) she will go and turn the thermostat down at least one degree (but probably more) and then turn it up when she leaves for work. Her idea is that Dad never need know. Sometimes she forgets and thats when the argument starts all over again.  Literally, the same argument will happen again. You'd think they would learn.

Another constant fight is Mom's lateness. Kelly has some of the worst ADD ever, and it's a partial cause to her chronic tendency to arrive anywhere late. She couldn't be on time to save herself. It used to embarrass me terribly as a kid, because nobody likes being the last kid picked up from school, from activities, etc. Especially because generally she's not just late, she's like 25 minutes late. And then I'd feel bad for making somebody else's parent have to wait for me. Let's just say that I actually made it to my dental appointments on time when I started driving myself. And it's not like we don't try to help her out. We've tried setting all the clocks in the house 20 minutes fast, told all her doctors to call and remind her that her appointment is at least 30 minutes earlier than it actually is, etc. Nope, doesn't really help much.

Dad, on the other hand, is a 'if you're not early, you're late' kind of person. He's almost obsessed with getting places right on time. This mentality comes in handy for doctors appointments and stuff, but when you're going to a party or a family gathering it's awkward being the first people there. Mike cannot for the life of him understand the concept of 'fashionably late'.

So really, everything we do as a family is basically a ticking time bomb. Dad's parents (Grandma & Grandad D) live about 45 minutes away. This is a typical family outing:

Days in advance Dad will tell Mom that he wants to leave at 1:25pm. The get together probably doesn't start until at least 3pm. At 1:25pm Kelly will probably have just gotten out of the shower. It doesn't really help that aside from being late, Kelly has a terrible time making decisions and does everything at the speed of a prehistoric tortoise. She is just really slow in general. So it will probably take her at least another hour to get dressed, do her hair, and pick out jewelry. And that's if she's rushing like mad.

2:30pm will roll around and Kelly will at least be clothed. If it's a good day, she'll be ready to leave (ie she will be dressed with her hair in rollers and she will do her makeup in the visor mirror of the van). If it's not a good day she'll be another 20 minutes.

Mike, of course, wanted to leave at around 2pm, regardless of what time he told Kelly. He gave her a 1:25 start time with some leeway built in, but once it gets past 2pm he starts to get mad. [As an aside, Danny and I were both most likely ready to leave at 1:25pm]. He'll tromp upstairs and start nagging her to get a move on it. By 2:30 they're yelling at each other. It's not like his persistent nagging is helping her get ready any faster. In fact, it probably slows her down since Kelly is incapable of doing two things at once. They'll fight for a few minutes and then Mike will give some sort of ultimatum (like 15 minutes or so) and stomp downstairs. He'll yell at Danny and I to get in the car.

With us in the car, Dad will start the car and grumble to himself. Mike doesn't have a long fuse on the best of days and once he gets mad he stays mad. And then it's like some nasty demon from another dimension takes over his mouth because he does not know when to shut it. Even after a fight is over he will continue to grumble ugly things under his breath and talk to himself. It really only makes things worse. He'll do that while he sits in the car, which is running. My parents will have been married 21 years this April and sometimes I don't understand why he doesn't just accept her lateness as a thing that happens. Or maybe not quite accept it, but stop to seriously work himself up over it. I mean, Kelly has been chronically late for most of her life and after two decades of marriage nothing much has changed. But Mike for some reason just can't get this through his neanderthal skull.

After another 10 minutes of car idling (which drives me nuts, because it's pollutionatory) he will angrily shut off the car and stomp back inside. He will yell something like, "FUCK THIS. I'M NOT GOING" and plop himself in the recliner and turn on ESPN.

That's when they both play the "I'm not going" game. Mike will refuse to go, and then Kelly gets pissed. If she fails to get him to come with us, she'll make me or Danny go in and beg him to go with us. Or if that fails, Kelly will declare that she's not going either. It's really really wack.

What usually happens after this is that we all end up going but Kelly and Mike will argue with each other for the first half of the car trip and then sit in stoney silence for the second half.

It's really weird, and really awkward and totally screwed up, but it's my family and I have to live with it. All I can really do is roll my eyes and slowly shake my head.

Now that I'm older and have actual social skills, I have attempted to mediate several arguments between them. Usually I didn't volunteer for this job, I just got dragged in. Somebody will be looking for validation for their points, and since I'm the only one there (besides Danny, and he doesn't count) I get hooked in. It's really hard to mediate between them because they both want to 'win' the argument. Generally I try to play the fence by validating some of both of their points but also pointing out their own faults. This usually doesn't go over well and then they just get mad at me too. And then everybody is all mad at each other. I just can't win.

Depending on the severity of the fight, they'll be back to normal in a few hours or they won't speak to each other for several days. It's really just a toss up after one of their stupid fights.