Really, Amazon? Really?

I was looking for Jeffrey Steingarten's "The Man Who Ate Everything."

The first one is my favorite.

Why my uterus is a fucking ass hole.

So, I have a uterus. I fucking hate it. Seriously. I want to set it aside until I decide to maybe one day sometime maybe have babies. All it provides to my life right now is emotional crazy. Yes, this is different than my normal, everyday crazy where I threaten to punch babies and stab people in the face. I know that most of you fellow Uterine Americans will totally understand this. (How awesome would it be if that phrase caught on? No? OK, fine.) Two to three days before I become intimate with Tampax, I lose control of my body and my emotions. Like, for reals. I have been known to gain five pounds. Clothes stop fitting, my face blows up like a balloon, I get headaches, my uterus revolts and starts slowly killing me from the inside. This is all, well, whatever. I have issues, which are just not something any of you want to hear. This, to me, is tolerable. My body gets hijacked, life goes on.

But, BUT, then my brain says fuck off. I lose all control of cognitive function. It feels like I spend 3 - 5 days hovering over my own body, screaming STOP BEING A FUCKING CRAZY PERSON.

Today was one such day. I don't even know what happened, but I was standing in kitchen class fighting back tears. I was so frustrated and angry and just crazy. I slammed down a tray because, well, I don't know. I was mad? About something? Sometime? I mean, there were some underlying reasons for my frustration. But, my reaction? BAT. SHIT. FUCKING. CRAZY. Sometimes I think I should be quarantined five days out of the month. For the sake of humanity.

Plus, I am not sleeping so well, which is another blog post all together. Or, really, a novel called "Insomniac: When the Crazy Can't Sleep." I do not recommend reading it. There is a lot of late night television and free Kindle books involved.

I know that a lot of women go through this and I know that they don't blog about the horrors of hormones, but what the fuck ever. I am weak. And needed to rant. And, really, just need all of you to tell me that you still love me even though I belong in a padded cell.

AND to top off the day from hell...the Bucks lost to fucking Tennessee and I am angry. Because the appropriate response to sports games you have no money on is anger.I feel like therapists everywhere just sensed this all happening and are sounding some sort of alarm. Again.

Is everything creepy today? Or is it just my life?

When I first started my job, the dishwasher gave me his number. He then went into the manager's office and got my number from the employee phone list and texted me, often. I barely responded and eventually managed to slip in that I had a boyfriend and that was the end of the situation. He seemed nice enough, I thought nothing of it.

I have come to realize that this dude is the weirdest mother fucker I have ever met. He has these really bushy eyebrows and he combs them straight up. I always thought that this was because they were large and in charge, but turns out that it is his "signature" look. He looks like this:

I never told anyone about the weird texting because there is nothing worse than being that guy that asks someone out, gets rejected, and then everyone finds out. OK, I don't actually know what this is like because I don't shit where I sleep, but still. It probably sucks. So, I said nothing and went on humoring him when he told me weird things. Like, he takes his mini van out and purposefully spins out in church parking lots. And that he lives in his mother's basement. And he keeps asking me if I am on Facebook (I always tell him no. LIES!) and on Yahoo. Anyone know what he means by "are you on Yahoo?" I don't so much. I always say no, because if he explains it will mean I have to talk to him forever. And, ew.

So, today, one of the newer (SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD) girls told me he asked her out and asked me how old he was. I said 28 and then said, OMG, the same thing happened to me! So, we shared creepy stories and it seems he does the same thing with every single person that works there with boobs and a pulse. He wasn't there tonight, but I kind of want to shower thinking of all the times I thought he was a little pathetic and humored him because everyone needs someone to be nice to them. OMG I NEED LIKE 10 SHOWERS. Ew. Just, ew.

I also found out the other day that one of the gay guys at work I considered "one of the girls" is in fact a 40 year old single guy who I have had MANY inappropriate conversations. Today, while getting an ice dish from a shelf in front of me, he said watch out for your front parts. Then chuckled in a very "I will see you outside your window tonight" kind of way. And he touches me a lot. Like, a lot. I mean, he doesn't grab my cooter or anything, but is always touching me on the arm or back.

OK, I just reread that and it sounds like I work at pedophiles R Us. It's really not that bad, they are just creepy. And while most of you work in an office where they can't get away with saying whatever they want, this is a kitchen. Totally different can of beans. Did I just say that? OMG. I am becoming a creepy old lady with cheesy catch phrases.

Hold me.

Yoshi!

So. Big Jed is single handily the most talented person I know with yarn. She knits. She crochets. And it is all fucking bad ass. (I almost typed it is seriously legit and then though, hm, stop stealing lingo from tools.)

Naturally, when I saw this, I immediately demanded that she make me one. I wish I could say that I was nicer and asked her and offered her favors or chocolate or something, but, no, really, this happened:

1. You are going to need to make me this: http://www.geekologie.com/2010/03/are_you_licking_my_neck_a_yosh.php

2. You are also going to need to help me make a pillow out of the needlepoint "home sweet home" thingy I just bought online.

Word for word email. The home sweet home thingy is for Krackle. Oh, I'm doing it.

Why are people friends with me? Seriously. I am kind of an ass hole.

So, I will keep you posted on the Yoshi scarf, because EVERYONE should have one of these. Coolest. Thing. Ever.

Food Tool and the Bloggess

Do you ever have a day that feels like the entire population has been replaced by morons? Like, you are in some kind of sitcom where everyone feels really bad for the main character who just keeps banging their head repeatedly on anything within her reach? And you are watching this sitcom thinking, holy fuck, I am glad that is not my life. Because if it was, holy fuck that would be awful.

I don't think any such sitcom exists. It was really all I had. Seriously, people, morons. They are coming out of the woodwork and finding me. It's like they don't even know I am liable to scream obscenities randomly at them.

BUT! It is OK. It is all just fine, because this happened:

However, now I feel pressured to be all witty and awesome. Because she is all witty and awesome. And she finds the funniest shit on the Internet and has pretty much formed my entire vocabulary. DOUCHE CANOE. I mean, seriously.

On a totally unrelated note, the James Beard Finalists were announced today. This is my Academy Awards People. I sat and read through the list of names. Of restaurants. Most of them I had heard of, some of them I hadn't. I have no desire to be on TV or to be a celebrity chef. I don't really care if people recognize me. But, a James Beard Award? Holy fuck, I want one. It is probably premature to aspire for this while still in culinary school, but I don't care. I want one. And that list? Hubert Keller is probably one of my favorite chef's of all time. Anthony Bourdain (who was robbed and should have been on this list over fucking Andrew Zimmern.) Ina Garten, Alton Brown, Rick Bayless, Todd English, Tom Colicchio...Let's just say that to be in this room would be my dream. It would be the perfect day in a perfect world and I would just die. I just had some sort of foodie/chef/giant tool moment. My bad. Please continue with your regularly scheduled reading of less tool-like things.

I believe it maybe, might have passed?

IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!

Was that obnoxious? Am I crossing a line? My bad.

IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED! IT PASSED!

Sometimes, I have hope for this country. (Not so much when the crazy bitch says "freedom dies a little bit today") Something had to be done. I cried. I admit it (barely) but I cried.

Sorry if you disagree, I still love you. But, dude, It passed.

Why you should probably not be my friend.

I feel like I should talk about beer and make fart jokes to make up for the last few posts. I swear, I will not get all preachy on you. I will not make this blog THAT blog. Those things are important to me, yes, but they are personal and I am going to try to have some self control (ha!) and not talk about that anymore.

I want to talk about Krackle. And her family. And Krackle. Here's the thing, she is my oldest friend. It has been ten and a half years. I know that doesn't seem long to most people, but I don't talk to people from my childhood/high school years. So, other than immediate family, nobody knows me better. Big Jed is a close second.

I called her randomly at 3:00 today and pretty much invited myself over. And she made me dinner. Then she bought me a beer. Don't you all want to be my friend? I promise I am not normally all "take care of me" but, today I needed it. I needed to just be with someone who knows me that well, to just be somewhere that I am comfortable. We spent the early part of the evening playing with Krackle Junior, who is easily the most beautiful amazing little girl on the entire planet. OK, I am a tad biased. But, seriously, I love how comfortable she is with me. I love that she recognizes me and let's me pick her up and hold her and I just love that fucking kid. I can't help it. I would post pictures, but she is a little girl and this blog is public, and right. But, seriously, SO FUCKING CUTE.

Krackle went inside to put the meat in the oven and Krackle Junior ran over to me and handed me her ball. And I (being totally kid communication challenged) threw it. Because that is what I would do with my dogs. And she grinned and babbled and ran to get it and gave it to me again. Then a nanosecond later she pointed at the bubbles, so I blew bubbles. Then she wanted to play under the pine tree (too close to the street!) and I picked her up and lifted her over my head and she squealed and then wanted me to throw the ball again. And this icy, cold, stone-like thing in my chest? Yeah, it melted a little. OK, a lot. I almost threw her in my car and drove off.

This post is like my friendship resume.

They are all just so cute, I want to embroider a pillow with "Home Sweet Home" and give it to them because, seriously, they are that cute. Except I can't embroider and they would laugh at me and awkwardly put it on the couch, only to throw it in a closet later.

Then Krackle and I went to a bar and drank beer and talked about sex. And it was just the perfect day. Exactly what I needed. To just sit and laugh and talk and just be.

However, I am fairly certain that a bunch of drunk guys at the bar heard most of our conversation and are going to tell a lot of people about it. If I overheard it, I know I would.

He totally said it better.

Politics and religion in one week, this feels like a bad plan spiraling out of control. But, I am going to talk about it anyway because, well, I read this and although he says it better than I ever could, I am going to try.

I feel the same way about politics that I do about religion. Everyone is allowed to make their own choice and I will respect that, but stop fucking forcing your choices on people. Stop telling someone that they can't seek asylum in this country because we're "full." Stop telling people that they can't come over the border to make a better life for their family. Help people. Be good to people. Stop being such a bunch of fucking ass holes.

Because, really, that is what this country is becoming. A bunch of spoiled brats who hoard their money so that they can buy another sports car they won't drive. People who walk right by someone in need, who don't stop to help someone change their tire.

I am going to lose my health insurance in a few months and I have no alternative. None. Because of all my back bullshit, I am not eligible for private insurance. I can't get covered under the boy's because his company is considered a small business and therefore not eligible to offer partner benefits. I can't get covered under work because they won't pay for health insurance for their part time employees. I am willing to pay for doctors appointments in full. I am willing to pay for prescriptions. All I want is a piece of paper that says if something horrible happens and I end up in the hospital I am not going to lose everything I own because of medical bills. That's it. Just reassurance. And, yes, I know that there are plans out there that do just that. They will not cover you if you have had inpatient care in the past 2 years.

To me, this isn't right. I work, I am a full time student, I am a homeowner. I am not an illegal immigrant or on welfare or any of the arguments that are being spewed all over Facebook and Twitter. The system is broken. But, you know what, I don't care if we help that illegal immigrant. If he is hurt, he needs medical attention. If he is sick, he should get medication. Bottom line. End of story.

We need to be helping each other, not hurting each other. Giving back more than we are taking.

I am not going to say I am not guilty from time to time. I am. But, I am so sick of politicians and the people who have most of the wealth refusing to use their influence for good. Refusing to help. Flying around the world in their private jets while people are starving to death in our streets.

I know people will never change, but it just makes no sense to me. This whole premise of helping only the people that can afford the help is ludicrous. Yes, I get that we are "coddling" people. Well, you know what, I would rather coddle a few people than watch them get gravely ill because we refuse to help.

Baby Lawrence

Today something horrible happened. This happened:

http://www.10tv.com/live/content/local/stories/2010/03/18/story-columbus-4-year-old-death-investigation.html?sid=102

The little boy that died was my classmate's nephew. I am devastated and I don't even know the whole family. I cannot imagine what they are going through and my heart breaks thinking of them.

I had a blog post written for today, but I feel like this is more important. Hug your kids. Love your family and your friends. Nobody ever knows how long we will be around to say I love you.

More importantly, choose who you let around your children carefully. Trust your instincts.

I think of Krackle's baby girl and if anything ever happened to her, I would kill the person who hurt her. I can't even imagine what it feels like to read something like this as a mother or father.

No four year old baby should ever have to endure what Lawrence endured.

Penis AND Vagina

It started with this:

http://nicoleisbetter.com/writers-block-stabbiness-and-my-all-time-favorite-word

Then, this happened:

http://www.vixationsblog.com/2010/03/17/someone-had-to-do-it/

And now I am all, how do I post again? I will never top this.

Also, I would like to introduce you all to the King of Fail, new follower of the blog and fellow culinary student. He was not so happy that I had not talked about him before, so no worries, your kingship, you and your failures will become a regular part of this here blog.

I should never say "this here blog" again.

It's been a long day.

I am going to regret this post one day...probably tomorrow.

The food poisoning at a church potluck incident has led to many questions about my views on religion. Which, honestly, I don't talk about except for with people that I trust and respect and know won't bitch slap me in the name of Jesus. It's happened. OK, it hasn't. But, I envision it happening and I am scared.

I do not believe in God. (pausing for gasps and judgement) I consider myself an atheist. (pausing while someone grabs the smelling salts) So, when I said I was at a church potluck, I got a lot of confused responses.

"Hey, Erratic, I thought you hated organized religion. What the fuck?"

"Um, Erratic, did you get struck by lightening? I mean, just wondering."

"You are an atheist who attends church potlucks...that's weird."

OK, I did not actually get any of those comments word for word. But, the essence of the response was...WHAT. THE. HELL. Which, is understandable. I am going to explain. Now. Fuck, I feel like this is a bad idea. OK, here goes.

I do not believe that there is a higher power sitting on a throne judging whether I deserve to be in heaven or hell. I do not believe that the world was created in 7 days. I do not believe in heaven or hell at all. I believe in spirituality. I believe that when I die, my spirit will live on. I believe in reincarnation. I believe in science and evolution, but I have seen some shit that makes me doubt that when we die, we turn into carbon to provide nutrients to the earth and THAT IS IT.

I believe that religion can corrupt people. But I have seen people that it doesn't corrupt. I have seen people that make sane, rational decisions for their life that are based on logic and cohesive thought. We are all equal. I don't care what race, sexual orientation, religion, social status, whatever. You are no better or no worse than me. Unless you like Sarah Palin. Then I will judge the shit out of you.

I attend a lot of church events with my dad because, honestly, if I believed in God and organized religion, I would attend that church. They are good people (who need to learn a little bit about food safety) who do good things for people around the world. I have had cocktails with their minister, their church ordained a lesbian minister and performs commitment ceremonies. They are non-denominational and don't care what your background is, you are welcome. And not just, you can sit in the service welcome, I mean really welcome.

Also...do you like how one of my qualifiers is that the minister's drink. Wow, seek AA.

So, the moral of the story is, I am an atheist, but I am not an ass hole. And people need to learn that those two words do not mean the same thing. So, I often do not tell people what my religious views are because they assume it means that I murder babies and kick puppies.

Can I just say, though, if there was a God? It would be Lisa Lamponelli.

Just one more reason I should stay away from organized religion and weddings.

I have food poisoning, which I got from a charity potluck at my dad's church. I find this utterly parallel to my life in a way that made me laugh, right after I brushed my teeth. There is no other explanation for my 4 am puke fest. No fever, no achy body...yep, some ass hole didn't wash their hands or was unaware on how to handle raw meat. Poisoned at Church on the next Law and Order. I knew I should have stuck with the macaroni salad my dad bought on his way there.

So, at 4 am, I vomit and then make the boy come upstairs and change the sheets because they smell like dog and I can't handle the smell. He obliges because he spoils me rotten. I called school and said I wouldn't be there and called work and said I wouldn't be there, posted a tweet/facebook status so no one at school would call me and wake me up, and I passed the fuck out until noon, when I woke up to the phone ringing. I have been brave enough to eat saltines and drink Vernors. The boy has promised soup when he returns home from work.

So, my lovely food poisoning story is not the real reason for this post. The real reason is that I want to be a mother fucking bitch. Not just a bitch, a mother fucking bitch. I have been watching the horror that is television before 8 pm when I stumbled up on Kell on Earth on Bravo. She does something in fashion and is a bonafied, card carrying, mother fucking bitch. I love her. I love the tenacity of just saying what you are thinking and not caring what people think. This is also why I love Gordon Ramsey.

I am throwing a bachelorette party for my little sister in St. Louis. A city I have not lived in for 11 years. She promised left and right that her friends would help, so I was not worried. I made all of the invitations for the bridal shower, mailed them, handmade all the games, wrote the menu. Done, stress free. My mom and I make a good team. On to the bachelorette party. NOBODY WILL CALL ME BACK. And when they do call me back, they are all blah blah I don't know, whatever, ladida. This is now how I operate. I am efficient, I don't waste time with indecision, pick something and go with it. You live there, not me. The phone call was from her friend, who needed to know right this very second where we were going because she has a friend who maybe, possibly, could get us a deal on a party bus. I was told "downtown" for a location. That is even too vague for Columbus, which is like half the size. So, I go on Urban Spoon, and like 400 restaurants come up. I call my sister and am like, OK, your friends are not helping, can you pick a restaurant or give me more information or something. She goes OFF on how she is not supposed to be planning this and doesn't want to make these decisions and can I please just handle it.

MOTHER FUCKING, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I want to be a mother fucking bitch. I want to call these people and be like, look, do your fucking job. I bought the penis straws and inappropriate shot glasses. I will make reservations for a limo and for the restaurant. JUST PICK ONE FUCKING RESTAURANT. You don't even have to give me the phone number, I can google.

I am laying here in bed, covered in a quilt and cuddling with a short dog on Urban Spoon trying to sort through hundreds of restaurants that are located downtown, drinking Vernors and trying not to vomit. Do you know how hard it is to look at pictures of food when you are sick? It sucks, it really really sucks.

Just one more reason if the boy and I ever get married, we are eloping.

Snuff

I like dark, angry music. The kind of music that parents send their kids to therapy for listening to. The kind of music that typically requires trench coats and eye liner and piercings and a general dislike and distrust of society. The kind of people who shoot lots of other people from towers. I know that this is being stereotypical, but whatever. I like the music too.

I am genuinely a nice person. I really am. But, I have a lot of anger and hate too and I think that the music is a healthy outlet for that. I can't stand happy, let's hold hands and love music. Does this make sense? Because I sort of feel like I am making no sense here because how do you explain your entire personality in a blog post? Anyway, the reason I am writing this is because this song is, like, me. I think things like this. I have written poetry that is very similar to this. And I can't stop listening to this song. But, I felt the need to forewarn all of you because nobody is singing Kumbaya and I didn't want you all to send out some sort of alert to all clock towers. It's just rare that a song hits me like this and, you know, sharing and all.

Snuff

by Slipknot

Bury all your secrets in my skin

Come away with innocence and leave me with my sins

The air around me still feels like a cage

And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

So if you love me let me go

And run away before I know

My heart is just too dark to care

I can't destroy what isn't there

Deliver me into my fate

If I'm alone, I cannot hate

I don't deserve to have you

Ooo, my soul was taken long ago

If I can change, I hope I never know

I still press your letters to my lips

And cherish them in parts of me that savor every kiss

I couldn't face a life without your lights

But all of that was ripped apart when you refused to fight

So, save your breath I will not care

I think I made it very clear

You couldn't hate enough to love

Is that supposed to be enough?

I only wish you weren't my friend

Then I could hurt you in the end

I never claimed to be a saint

Ooo, my own was banished long ago

It took the death of hope to let you go

So break yourself against my stones

And spit your pity in my soul

And never needed any help

You sold me out to save yourself

And I won't listen to your shame

You ran away, you're all the same

Angels lie to keep control

Ooo, my love was punished long ago

If you still care, don't ever let me know

If you still care, don't ever let me know

This started with focus, I swear...

Against my better judgement, I have let my 85 year old return to his former home. I have very mixed feelings about this. It is where he wants to be, but I feel like that is the first symptom of Stockholm's Syndrome. (For the record, I have asked like 10 people what that is called and all of them, including myself at first, initially came up with Munchhausen's. I find this kind of eerie...)

The situation is probably not that bad. Probably. But, let's just say I had a "meeting" tonight where I cited state law to prove that living conditions were not meeting legal requirements for psychological reasons. Let's just also say this was not met with a cheer from the crowd. So, my family life is a little weird. I vowed to interject myself into the situation and work to help improve it. The stress of caring for an elderly early stages Alzheimer's patient is taking it's toll and I really do get that. But, the bottom line is that my grandfather is a person and I refuse to allow the living conditions he was in prior to this week continue.

Having said that, do you all need a minute to stare at the screen in awe at the craziness that is my life right now? Because I just reread that paragraph and thought, huh, I guess that did all happen. Weird. Should I have a nervous breakdown now? Because I really feel like I should. What is weird about me (other than everything) is that the small stuff will get to me to the point where I will make myself sick. The big stuff? Psh. I've got this. I am a good person to have around in a crisis. Unless that crisis is a paper cut, then I will probably weep in the corner until it stops hurting.

Does anyone else feel like I need an entourage of therapists at all times? Or that this blog will one day be used as evidence to commit me? Or that this song will be what finally drives me over the edge?

Go watch this. Like, now.

DID THAT JUST HAPPEN? OK, I used to describe that song as an auditory acid trip, but now, I just don't know. Is that really the, like for reals, video? Did he accidentally fall into Toy Story IV: Woody Drinks the Magic Potion. This was my face during THE ENTIRE VIDEO:

Also, I am now bald? And I have no pupils. OK, let's just be honest, I got a new face.

Can someone please tell me that spending my free time hating a song is not healthy? Because I have tweeted about this song at least twice. I am going to need you all to send help. And beer. OK, let's be honest...ALWAYS send beer. But, this time, can you attach a little note with a smiley face that says "I killed the fireflies." Address it to the person in the corner rocking back and forth and swatting at imaginary fireflies.

So, this post took a weird turn. Huh. It's been a weird day.

Normally, I would say don't panic, but...PANIC.

Sound the alarms.

This is not a drill, people. This is not a drill.

I am going to need everyone to head to the bomb shelter and gather bottled water. And beer. Lots and lots of beer. Oh, and maybe some food and shit.

The world may be ending. Wait, scratch that, the world is ending. It may have already ended and this is some sort of death dream.

My mother is on Facebook. I REPEAT. My mother is on Facebook.

If she gets a twitter account, I will believe in hell and that I am, in fact, in it.

UPDATE: She has listed herself as a Republican and a Christian. The woman voted for Nader once and hasn't been to church in over a decade.

Alice in...oh, sorry, I nodded off.

By reader request (OK, just Krackle) my review of Alice in Wonderland.

Meh.

That is my review. It was 3D. It was Tim Burton. It was my favorite book from my childhood. I had some pretty high expectations. I fell asleep. Literally, nodded off. The story moved like watching paint dry. The special effects were not nearly as cool as Avatar, even though they were hyped to be way better.

Johnny Depp's character was fucking bad ass. He, along with the rest of his "tea party" made the movie. Without them, I probably would have hated it.

I enjoyed the costume design. I enjoyed the movie visually, I did. But, I seriously felt like the girl who played Alice was on tranquilizers. She was just always like, oh, something is happening. Hm. That is weird. And...scene.

So, my recommendation? If you are going to see this movie, bring a book. Or play games on your phone. Or find something to entertain you other than the movie. Or wait until it comes out on DVD. It is not worth it to go see the special effects in 3D. Like, at all. If you want to see a bad ass 3D movie, go see Avatar. Seriously. That movie is like a visual orgasm. Alice in Wonderland is like a bad first date.

Hookie

I was bad today. OK, that sounded weird. But, I woke up unable to turn my head to the right and with a pounding headache, which seems to be a theme these past three days. My head usually correlates directly to my stress level and with everything that has gone on, my stress level is pretty high. So, I skipped school. OK, start yelling at me. I'll wait.

I know, I know, I am a horrible person and a bad student and someone should beat me with my knife kit. I just didn't have it in me. And when I woke up with the stiff neck, it was like AHA! excuse.

However, it has led to some very humorous papa moments. The boy gave him the task last night of bringing the recycling bin in once it was picked up. He practically stalked it, waiting for the pick up. As soon as they picked it up, he walked all the way upstairs to get his hat (the man will not leave the house without a baseball cap on, ever) and it took him 20 minutes to get the recycling bin onto the front porch. It was literally 20 feet away. Maybe.

Then he decided it was time to clean up. Clean up to him means combing his hair. He has been upstairs for 45 minutes. I asked him if he wanted to go see Alice in Wonderland in 3D at 2:00. He got frantic and was like, well, I better hurry and get ready. It was noon.

So, I am playing hookie and going to the movies and I may even go shopping. I feel like I am in high school all over again. Except I will be going nowhere near a mall. Or a 7-11 for slushies.

I was expecting someone a bit younger...

There has been some family drama that I can't really delve into all the details on. I typed up the entire thing and read back through it and thought about how those people would feel if they knew I wrote it.

I will say this, though. I have adopted an 85 year old. We don't know for how long, but the situation he was living in was no longer available or welcome. So, my grandfather is living with me. So far, it is until Thursday, but just tonight he mentioned that he thought it would be for several months. I don't disagree, but am hopeful that the household situation in his previous home will resolve itself.

However, you know what this means, right? Fun crazy old people stories! Remember Conversations with Grandma? Well, I promise that this will not be any less hysterical. My grandfather is in the early stages of Alzheimer's. Not the sad stages, for the most part he is fairly normal. But, he has been diagnosed and eventually will start to deteriorate. The majority of his memory loss right now is in language, so he forgets words. And when he forgets words, he whistles. So, a conversation with him is often a tad vague.

"The other day I (whistle) and boy was that fun."

And you wonder what exactly he did because, let's be honest, the whistle kind of always makes it sound dirty. Then I just get grossed out and need to excuse myself to vomit.

It is obvious that he knows he is here for reasons that are unpleasant and it makes me sad to think he felt unwelcome. So, we are doing our best to make sure he feels like this is home, for however long he needs to stay here. The dogs overwhelm him a bit when they are crazy, but once they settle down, he loves them and pets them and talks to them. It is quite cute and they LOVE the attention.

So, for now he will be with us and I promise to have hilarious stories once he settles in and makes himself at home. Oh, wait, my house smells like Ben-Gay and he is yelling about all the barely dressed women on the Oscars. I think he is at home.

Sarah Palin, you are dead to me. Seriously. I think you are brain dead.

I would like to start this post by telling Criminal Minds to go fuck itself. Because, seriously, I watch that show because I want to see some smart mother fucker deducing shit from next to nothing, catching the bad guy at the last possible moment, then saying something all full of wisdom on the plane ride home. I DO NOT want to spend an hour crying. If I wanted to do that, I would watch Lifetime. Or Oprah. Bad Criminal Minds, bad. (Picture me swatting it with a newspaper here, because that is totally what I am doing in my head.)

In case you forgot since yesterday, this term is kicking my ass. KICKING. MY. ASS. That is all I am going to say on that because I am liable to start simultaneously whining and chugging beer and the last thing any of you need is another drunk, whiny blogger. I am not sure who the other drunk whiny bloggers are, but I have read some really really bad blogs out there and I just sincerely hope they are drunk because if they are sober and writing that shit, just wow. Today one of the blogs I read linked to another blog calling them mature and smart and shit. I was like, sweet! I love finding new blogs to love. It is kind of my hobby. So, I click on the link and HOLY CRAP it is the most inane bunch of drivel (I love that word. drivel. ha.) I have ever read. I have almost no faith left in humanity at this point, and that shit makes it hard to get out of bed.

Speaking of hating humanity, Sarah Palin is coming to town on Friday. If I have any Republican readers out there (which, seriously? Why do you like me?) go ahead and stop reading. Especially if you are one of the people that SCARES THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME and thinks that she is going to change the face of politics. Did you see the Katie Couric interview? DID YOU SEE IT? Because, what is going to change the face of politics is intelligence. And reason. And intelligence. Even if that woman agreed with every political belief I had, I wouldn't vote for her. No fucking way.

OK, I have lost all sense of what this post was supposed to be about. Oh, right, I am going to try to assassinate Sarah Palin. OK, not really. I don't believe in guns and even if I was close enough to perform some sort of awesome "I will kill you with my pinky move," I know no such moves. However, one of my fellow classmates works at the Aladdin Shrine Center where she is giving her speech that she did not write, think of, or even understand. There are Secret Service everywhere and he is all kinds of freaked out because he asked me to give him a ride. Immediately upon asking me, I started telling everyone that would listen that I was paying him to assassinate her. Seriously, I yelled it in the hall at school. And a lot of people from school work there. My hope is that I pull up to drop him off and he is taken down by the Secret Service. Seriously, how funny would that be?

I just had the best idea ever. I have an Obama/Biden magnetic bumper sticker. So, what if I get like 100 of them and just COVER my car in them. Like, even the roof. And then pull up to her pro-life rally. I am also going to need some pro-choice paraphernalia. And maybe something funny about how stupid she is. And hunting from helicopters. I am totally serious. Local readers, let's rally.

He is never going to let me drive him to work. I may also be the worst friend ever.

Who freaks out for no reason? Me? No. Never.

I have written a post a day for the past few days and have published none of them. Sometimes I get in these slumps where everything that shows up on the screen sounds like utter bullshit. Do other bloggers do this? Or am I alone? I have so many drafts saved, it easily out numbers the things I have posted. I have heard bloggers say, oh, this post took me three days to write. That doesn't happen for me either. I write it, I proof read, tweak, and post. If I let something sit and ruminate, I will end up not posting it for the 7000 reasons that it totally sucks.

I think I am too hard on myself. I know, all of you are just SHOCKED by this information.

So, my third term at culinary school started yesterday and, can I just say, the real shit is starting. We have presentation times. Like, if your food is not sitting on this table, hot, at exactly 2:10, you get a zero. It's good. I like the fact that I am learning how to hold food on a line, it makes me feel all cheffy.

My new chef instructor HAS TO BE related to Gordon Ramsey, who I love. BUT I am not in a kitchen with Gordon Ramsey all day. She made me prove to her that I had tasting spoons on my person. I was baking chicken. Someone please explain to me how I was going to taste chicken with a spoon. However, I think she is going to break some very bad habits that I have and for that I am grateful. And terrified. Mostly terrified. At any moment I am expecting her to slap the back of my hand with a ruler and tell me I am a complete fuck up and to get out of her sight. OK, this probably won't happen. Probably.

I also have gotten consistently good grades on my food, even when it did not meet my expectations. I was beginning to think that the grading was going to be totally lax all the way through school and I would never really become the caliber chef I wanted to be. I actually just snickered when I typed that. Boy was I wrong. People got some shitty ass grades today for things that would have been irrelevant in prior classes. I was one of two people to get a perfect score. And, honestly, that food was pretty fucking perfect. (Don't tell scary Chef, but I thought my chicken was undercooked. I was saved by the fact that I was the last one to be tasted and it finished cooking while resting.)

So, this college that I found to be kind of a joke in it's simplicity is starting to officially kick my ass. In a good way, in a way it needs to be kicked. But, I would go ahead and get ready those "Erratic, you are not going to fail out of school and live in a card board box peeing in a Taco Bell bathroom" comments ready. I foresee a few irrational freak outs in my future.

What I don't foresee is anymore 4.0 GPA's. Sigh.