What Scares the Shit Out of Me
Oh. Oh, where do we begin?
Let’s start with my number one fear. I’ve got me a case of the coulrophobia, the fear of clowns. If I may say so, fuck clowns. Fuck them straight to the fiery pits of hell. You’ve seen these asshats, right? Nobody can be that happy all the time. Or that sad. They’re all just fucking demented sons of bitches, and they have no place in polite and decent society. I don’t care what kind of clown it is. IT clown, get the fuck out. (Supposedly) harmless little clown toy, get the fuck out.
My friends like to get on me about my fear, because to them, it’s silly. Well, let’s look at their fears. One of them is terrified of Chucky from the Child’s Play movies. Yeah, ok, he’s a creepy little bastard, but no doll is going to come to life with the spirit of a serial killer trapped inside. Another is scared of zombies. Big whoop, there’s lots of zombie movies out there for us to watch and go AAHH over, but a zombie apocalypse will never happen. Scientifically, it will never happen. And if it did, run like shit and keep one bullet for yourself. Another is harder to pin down. She’s never given up anything so either she’s impervious and laughs at the face of death like the Great Gonzo (step back, Evel Knievel, Gonzo doesn’t get paid. He’s in it for the sheer thrill) or she’s screaming on the inside about something and has a poker face that would make Lady Gaga weep. My mom also thinks I’m crazy. Her fear is Michael Myers from the Halloween franchise. Now, you might say that he has the potential to be sort of real, but let’s think of all the times he gets stabbed in the eye and shot and falls off balconies. No, dude is supernatural as shit. So, all these things, they aren’t going to happen. They fall into the realms of make believe.
BUT ANY PSYCHOPATHIC ASSHOLE CAN PAINT HIS FACE WHITE WITH A BIG RED SMILE, GRAB A RAINBOW FRO WIG AND A HONKING NOSE, SLIP INTO SOME COMICALLY TOO LARGE SHOES AND STAB YOU IN YOUR HEART WHILE YOU SLEEP.
I also don’t particularly like spiders or seeing bugs under a microscope.
Heights are another thing that gets to me. I weirdly don’t have a problem climbing trees or up the sides of a river bank and I have to climb counters to reach the cups on the top shelf, but you put me on a ladder or a bridge or a balcony, and fuck you very much, I’m leaving now. To that extent, I also don’t really dig on a plane. Flying makes me nervous, and I have inner ear issues, so it’s physically painful. But I think the worst thing about a plane is the thought of flying over a body of water. No. Just no. I’d love to go to Europe one day, but I’ll have nothing to do with any of those ponds. I have seen Titanic. I have seen Jaws. And I have read several articles on Cracked detailing all the horrors of the animals that live in the icy, black depths. I officially will have nothing to do with any body of water that is deeper than three inches ever again.
Being alone overnight is also slightly horrifying. Just about all I can think of is someone getting into the house and coming at me. Before I go to bed, especially if I’m going to be alone for several nights, I consider all the exits and where all the possible weapons are. I keep a gun on one side of the bed and an old machete on the other. That is not even an exaggeration. The second that my living alone full time is in sight, I’m getting every type of gun license I can get my hands on and a large dog. I will not ever live alone without guns and an animal that has the potential to rip out someone’s throat.
I’m easily scared, so I don’t like to watch horror movies. The first one I ever saw all the way through was Nightmare on Elm Street in the 5th grade. Freddy Krueger terrified me. I couldn’t sleep because I was scared that he’d kill me in my dreams like all those teenage kids who were foolish enough to drink and smoke and have sex in a horror movie. I’d sneak out of my room and curl up with my brothers for months until I finally had this weird dream one night. In it, my entire family was gathered for some holiday. I’m not sure whose house it was supposed to be, because it was a mixture of my two of my aunts’ and ours. Well, I’m sleeping on the couch, and I hear this noise coming from the hall and see an approaching shadow. I wake up everyone and tell them that we have to go to the kitchen and get on the counters, because the sunlight is there and the shadow can’t touch sunlight. God damn, I was smart in this dream. So, the monster is still coming for us, and I’m so scared, and I know it’s Freddy, and it’s awful. And then, he steps into the doorway, and I get a look at him. It’s definitively Freddy, but it’s also Shredder from TMNT movies. You know, those live action ones from the 90s. Specifically, he’s Super Shredder from Secret of the Ooze. He’s got Freddy’s claw fingers and Shredder’s arm things. He’s got Freddy’s shirt and Shredder’s trashcan bag looking cape. He’s got Shredder’s helmet, but it’s also got the brim of Freddy’s hat. And then, I woke up, and I laughed, and I can never be scared of Freddy again.
I don’t usually remember dreams, and even less nightmares. Most people probably have nightmares about bad things happening to them or to their loved ones. Nope. I have nightmares about something happening to my teeth. Maybe one gets chipped or falls out or has a cavity. Never fails that I wake up in a cold sweat and don’t calm down until I’ve gotten up to check them all in the mirror and count to make sure they’re all still there. I spent time and good money making them this straight and white and clean, and I will let nothing endager these beautiful end results.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my basic list of fears.
Why I Chose My University Degree
I didn’t get to choose my major. I started off at UT in the pre-med program because my parents decided that being a doctor would be good for me because of the money and because we have connections all over the place in the medical field. Now, these are good things to put in the pros column when considering a career path, and I was young and fresh out of high school where everything is easy, so I didn’t think to really protest this. But then I got to classes. Everything was overwhelming, from the sheer size of the classrooms to the material itself. I’ve gone to small, private schools all my life. My elementary and middle school grades had forty kids. My entire high school the year I graduated was 473 kids (I know that because of yearbook purposes, and that was considered a big bunch, it’s normally about 450). I had lecture halls with over 500 students. Just one class is bigger than my whole high school. I didn’t really know how to handle that. Now, I am a hardcore right brain thinker. I’m good with words and art and colors and all that sort of thing. But you start handing me logic and numbers and I go real stupid real quick. Unfortunately, pre-med is just about all left brain type classes.
My parents made me stick with it for a year before finally relenting and letting me out. But I still wasn’t allowed to pick what to do next. I tried. I went to advisors all over campus, trying to learn about what I could get out of various majors, and in the end, I really liked the idea of a history major. I love history. I can sit around watching History Channel documentaries all day every day. So I loaded up with packets about that major and career choices. But when I brought it all home, my parents said no, that all could do with a history major would be to teach. They refused to even read the packets.
Eventually, they decided on geology, so off I went. While I was at UT, geology was all right. I didn’t really like it, but I also didn’t hate it. And it’s a very good field to be in if you apply it to oil and gas exploration, which is a field in which my family has even more connections than the medical. So I was content to finish up with this degree, but due to an advising mishap, I had to switch last minute during senior year to geography to ensure that I’d graduate in the required four years. Because my parents are of the opinion that taking more than four years to complete a degree would make your resume automatically trash worthy.
Despite having this shiny new degree with which I could make good money, my parents decided that wasn’t good enough and made me come home and attend a local college to finish up the geology degree. And here is where life took a hard left turn. I’ve been here trying to work on this degree for the past year and a half. And that time has been nothing but miserable. That department and the people in it drained what little love I ever might have had for geology. I can’t stand rocks. I can’t stand mud and sand. I can’t. This time has been terrible to me, and I really don’t have the words to explain how miserable and depressed I’ve been sitting around thinking this is going to be the rest of my life.
Finally, a couple of months ago, I grew some girl balls and flat out told my parents that this wasn’t happening anymore, that I wasn’t going to sit around in a field I can’t stand and try to make it work for me just because they said so. I wasn’t going to be miserable and unhappy just because they were ignorant of all the things that can be done with different degrees. There were some issues, but I got my way. I dropped out of geology, and now I’m a GIS tech at a nice firm (and oh, look at that, I got the job with my geography degree. Who knew? And even better, I’m still in the oil and gas industry), and even though things aren’t perfect, I’m much happier with my life. I’m just starting out, so I’m working on getting rid of my debt and building up my savings. Not fun, but part of life. But I know things are going to be much better now for me. I’m still living with my parents, which is a whole ‘nother can of worms, but things are better.
Why I Was A Childhood Bully
Actually, I wasn’t. And certainly not by the definitions that I assign to bullies. Bullies are the kind of punks from 80s movies that the nerds has to stand up against. Bullies are these awful people who pick on others just because they’re smaller or dorkier. Bullies are the people who relentlessly torment kids who are trying to work their way through how they identify themselves sexually. Bullies are terrible, terrible people who are desperately lacking in morality and shame.
I wasn’t a bully as a kid. In elementary school, I wasn’t part of the “cool” kids, but I also wasn’t a “loser” or unpopular. I lived in the nice, happy medium. In middle school, I had my own clique, and we didn’t overly concern ourselves with anyone else’s group. Then in high school (after I had a certain friendship break up with a girl who didn’t like me to have friends outside of her, and it could be a freaking novel of its own explaining all of that situation), particularly senior year, everyone was friends with everyone. I went to a small, Catholic school, and all of us had known each other our whole lives, no matter which elementary feeder school we came from. Senior year was a lot of fun because all of us just got along and made the most of our last year together.
I’ve never really had much experience with bullying. I wasn’t bullied, and neither were any of my brothers or cousins. I guess the closest we had to bullying was the general teasing that exists between kids, but it was nothing malicious and nothing with the intent to destroy anyone’s self-confidence. Whoever was youngest at the time usually got the most of it. My dad’s side of the family is where all my cousins are from, and for the most part, there was one of us born per year for a while. So there’s a group of us all around the same age. Of this group, I’m the oldest, which meant that while we were kids I was the de facto leader. Since I was the oldest, obviously I was the one who knew best and could make the most informed decisions.
Boy, did I take advantage of that. I was pretty manipulative as a kid, mostly just to see how much I could get away with. It wasn’t spiteful or anything. I never did anything to be cruel to anyone. I just wanted to see how far I could go before a parent came running out of the house screaming. Some examples of my childhood genius (insanity), when I was six and my brother three, I convinced him to climb into the bucket of a well on our cousins’ property. I had him in the bucket, and I was just about to start lowering it when my mom and aunt came running out of the house. I looked up at them, and the first thing my aunt said was “Don’t you dare let go of that rope.” She was lucky she said it when she did, because I had been about to. The well wasn’t deep at all. It was kind of just for show. It would have been like jumping off the monkey bars on the playground. So lesson learned there, you can’t lower your brother down a well. At least not when any adults can see you from the windows.
One of my younger cousins has always, for some reason none of us can figure out, been a really big suck up to me. Now, he’ll suck up to just about any one if he can get something out of it, and the kid is a pro. He probably ought to go into politics or something. But the thing is, there’s absolutely nothing that I can offer him. But for some reason, he half lives for my approval. It’s a big joke in the family that the boy will do just about anything if I asked. Once, when we were little, we were playing in my backyard on the swingsets and jungle gym. The jungle gym was pushed right up against my dad’s vegetable garden, inside of which was the biggest ant bed that I’ve ever seen in my life. Really, y’all, this thing was a monster. Casually, I remarked that it would be funny if someone were to jump on it. So, hearing this, my cousin climbs to the top of the jungle gym and leaps off. Best part of the story is that he doesn’t jump so that he lands on his feet. He jumps so that he bellyflops. On the ground. And it’s his face that lands in the pile. Obviously the ants start swarming, and thanks to ninja daddy powers, my dad and uncle are already there spraying him down with the hose. The kid walked away with one three bites. Also, I didn’t get in trouble. This is one of those stories that we all look back on and just wonder what kind of prize he thought he was going to get out of that.
Other examples. In the house I grew up in, our mailbox’s light had broken off during a storm. The socket was left open. One day, I came up with a game called “See How Long You Can Stick Your Finger In There.” It was a big neighborhood hit. I was also always the one who suggested that we go play in the ditches after the big storms when they were flooded and the current was pretty strong.
This isn’t nearly all that I used to convince kids my age to do. I wasn’t so much a bully at all. I was more a Devil-On-Your-Shoulder type. I’m the one who, when we sit around reminiscing, everyone looks at and says “Jesus Christ, what were we thinking? Why did we keep listening to you? How did no one die?”
Yeah, I kind of changed the theme of this post. Whatever. I do what I want.
My Philosophy on Raising Children
Oh ho ho. Mr. Blogging Themes generator, didn’t you just give me a gem! I cannot wait to have kids. I can’t. I have so many plans.
I feel like nowadays parenting is pretty soft. Parents seem like they’re scared of a lot more than they were when I was growing up. When I was a kid, I don’t remember constant commercials about germs and talk of how each child is a precious snowflake. It seems like now parents get worked up about kids out being kids. I see way more kids wearing helmets and pads when they’re riding bikes. I see fewer kids climbing trees and romping around through ditches. Playground equipment actually meets some form of safety standards. What is this world?
I feel like a good comparison of kids now and kids then can be found in TV shows. I was a kid in the late 80s and 90s. I had the original Nicktoons and Ninja Turtles. I had Transformers and Power Rangers and Thundercats. Granted, the current incarnation of the TMNT cartoons is grittier, but gritty reboots are all the rage right now. But we’ve all made the arguments before. TV when we were kids was infinitely better than what’s on now (obviously there are a few exceptions but we’re talking as a whole here). There’s no way, absolutely no way, that Ren and Stimpy could possible pass for children’s programming now. Helga Pataki’s mother could never be an alcoholic. The Red Guy from Cow and Chicken and I.R. Baboon would have to wear pants. Today, most shows are these mock reality or sitcom types with all the same characters. Even the old Nick Jr. type of shows are awful now. I babysit some really young kids, and I cringe at the shows that are on during the day. I miss Blues Clues, Eureka’s Castle, Bear in the Big Blue House, Wee Sing in Sillyville, and the original Barney. One of my babies wanted to watch Barney a couple of weeks ago. Now, when my cousins and I stopped watching Barney, they had only just introduced Baby Bop. When my youngest brother did a brief Barney run, they had added some yellow guy. Wasn’t I surprised when I popped in the disk for my baby to see that there was yet another dinosaur! No more!
I’m going to search the earth until I find all of the good shows from my childhood, and that will be what my kids watch. Because I can only imagine that TV’s just going to get worse in the next five to ten years.
I mentioned earlier that parents seem kind of soft now. That’s not to say some of them won’t lay down the law when it’s needed, but some examples I’ve personally seen is that one set won’t let their eight-year-old watch the Disney Channel. The freaking Disney Channel. He’s not allowed specifically because of the Suite Life series and Wizards of Waverly Place. Quite frankly, that’s all of the Disney Channel that I can stand, so this kills me at TV time. The boy has a bad habit of repeating things that he hears, as kids are wont to do. I don’t know what he was running around repeating—I didn’t ask, that’s not my business—but I can’t imagine that Disney’s got anything that bad. This is entirely opposite of how my parents were. The only cartoon they ever didn’t want us watching was Ren and Stimpy, but we could easily go around that rule by staying over at my aunt’s house. She didn’t know what Ren and Stimpy was, and she didn’t care.
As long as nobody was throwing any curse words around, our parents didn’t care what we said. One of my brothers and I are two years apart. Thus, in our closeness, we used to pick on each other a lot and call each other names. Things that kids do. One afternoon at daycare, my mom got confronted by some busybody bitch mother who complained that her daughter had told her that I had called my brother a buttface (we have since moved on to bitchslut and dickweed). Oh dear God, get the soap! My mom just laughed and asked how long it had taken the lady’s daughter to tell her that when she was picked up. My parents didn’t care about what names we called each other. I’m not going to care either.
Time outs seem to be the way to discipline kids now. What the hell is a time out? How in the world does that solve anything? If my parents had ever told me to go sit in a corner and think about what I had done wrong, I wouldn’t be concentrating on my misdeed. I would be trying to figure out where I went wrong in the execution and how to avoid getting caught next time. I might also be plotting revenge. But I never got a time out. I got the belt. If I did something wrong, Dad was summoned and off came the belt. And I think we should all know that sound it makes coming off the belt loops. Horrifying. The oldest of my brothers (never the younger one, because he was the sweet, innocent baby and by that time Dad was bored with the kids) and I got belted, and we got belted good. And you know what, I never, never did whatever it was that got me the belt again. That is effective parenting. My kids will be treated as such if they stray from the law and get caught.
Another thing I’ve noticed is far, far too many parents at restaurants and grocery stores and other public places who just let their kids cry and carry on. Oh, no. No. No. No. Now, I like kids, I really do, but I don’t particularly like kids who don’t have some kind of connection to me, be that family or because I sit for them. So while I’m inclined to put up with a little bit from familiar kids, strangers’ children need to shut the fuck up and behave. When we were little, if there was any misbehaving in public places, my dad would ask only once if we needed to be taken outside. No. No, we did not need to go outside, because outside there are no witnesses. We got quiet after that real quick. But I see too many parents today either ignoring their children’s behavior or losing the battle against a kid who could have been easily taken down.
We were actually talking about this in my office earlier. Kids today are getting cell phones earlier and earlier. I got my first cell, which was my mom’s old one, on the day I turned sixteen. I got the phone because now I could drive without an adult, and it was just the safe option for my parents to be able to contact me and vice versa. My middle brother got his at fifteen because of football so my parents would know when to come pick him up. The baby brother got his at thirteen. But I’m hearing from the people in my office that kids have cell phones in fourth grade now. That’s ten years old. What does a ten year old need a cell phone for? One of my co-workers said they’re getting their boy a cell because he legit told them that he feels like a social outcast because he doesn’t have one yet. Seriously? This is the world I’m living in?
There are parents out there who try to be friends with their kids. While I see what they’re trying to do, I don’t agree with it. You’re not there to be friends with your kids. You’re there to be their parent. I’m not saying that the kid shouldn’t feel like they can’t talk to you about stuff. My dad has been so strict and such a hardass about his I’m-Not-Your-Friend policy that I can barely talk to him about anything that isn’t superficial. When we get past the portfolio comparisons and who the Cowboys are playing this weekend, things start getting awkward. There’s a nice medium in there somewhere, and that’s what I will employ with my kids. They’re going to know that if they need me to talk about anything, I’m there, but I am their mom first and foremost. I’m a regular mom, not a cool mom.
One of the things I’m most excited about in regards to having kids—in addition to making them have the most extensive nostalgic pop culture knowledge ever—is having kids around the same time as my friends and watching them grow up together. Three of my sorority sisters and I have already started delegating godmother duties. We’ve all already laid claims. Example, I’m getting one friend’s first girl because I really like what her name is going to be. Another of the girls is getting my first kid—boy or girl—because she’s planning on making me a giant sorority themed gift basket with onesies that have our founder’s face on them.
Just the other day, the future godmother of child number one and I challenged each other to a lifelong game of Use Each Other’s Children to Scare the Crap Out of Each Other. And I can’t wait for round one. In our little group, we all know each other’s worst fears. Mine is clowns. They just aren’t right. Caits’s fear is Chucky from Child’s Play, and also children in general, which amuses me to no end because she wants kids, but she’s a little bit afraid of them. So I’ve actually had this planned long before we challenged each other, but the guy she’s dating right now is a ginger (really a daywalker, but it’s the red hair that matters). All of my hopes and dreams hinge on them getting married. Because then they will have little ginger babies. And I will dress those babies up in striped shirts and overalls. I will hand them plastic knives and tell them to go chase mommy. And all of my godmother privileges will be stripped. I’m sure her plans for me will center around dressing my kids up as clowns. But I plan on instilling a healthy fear of those too-cheery bastards in my kids early on. Also, I’m sort of planning on my kids being too scared of me to dare try and mess with me, no matter how well they’re bribed.
Something else that will never happen in my house is me telling my children what to do with their lives. This happened with me. When I went off to college, I wasn’t allowed to pick my major. My parents chose pre-med for me, and then, when I was doing awful in it (because of all those sciences and maths that my brain just refuses to make sense of), they couldn’t understand why. So they had me switch to geology. I tried to bring home packets of information about what all I could do with something like a history degree, like, you know, go on to law school or something. But I was told that the packets were bullshit and that all I could do with that would be to teach. Due to some advising mishaps, I had to switch my degree to geography during my senior year to ensure that I would graduate within four years. Because more than four years to get a degree was tantamount to burning down the Library of Congress to my parents. So I have my happy little degree that I can make good money with, but my parents were insistent that I had to do geology, so they made me come home and go to the local college to get that degree. I put up with that for two miserable years. Guys, I can’t even begin to tell you how awful and lost and depressed and just down right miserable I’ve been for the past two years. It was the worst. Finally, finally, I grew some girl balls and told my parents flat out that I was dropping out of the program, that I refused to continue with a course of action that was making me so unhappy. Now, I’m employed as a GIS tech at a good firm, and while things aren’t perfect, it’s looking up. I’m only just starting, after all. But having gone through this, I know that I will never tell my kids what they can and can’t do with their lives. It’s their lives, not mine. It’s their feelings and happiness. It was extremely unhealthy, the place I was at before, and I don’t wish that on anyone.
All in all, I’m going to be strict with my kids. I’m going to expect certain things from them. I’m not going to tell them who to be, but I will expect that they be the best of themselves that they can. I will expect them to strive for the top, to be ambitious. I won’t tolerate them coasting through, but I will allow them the opportunity to make mistakes. I’ve made mistakes in my life, and I’ve had to deal with them and learn from them. I will give my kids all the advice in the world. I’ll shove it down their throats, but I’ll never tell them what to do with their career paths. I’m going to let my kids be kids. I’m going to let them climb trees and jump fences and fly out of swings and not wear helmets if they don’t want. I broke bones and twisted things and got lots of scars throughout my childhood, and I turned out just fine. I’m sure my kids will survive it too. I’m not going to obsess over the little things. The big things, sure, but not the little. I’ll have fun with them. We’ll play plenty of games, and I’ll lament my lack of youthful energy while they run around on limitless power that I can only assume children draw in from the yellow sun a la Superman. I’m going to use them as my little minions and just love them to pieces.
I can’t wait for kids.
Write About Your First Trip Abroad
Oh my. This. Didn’t I just have a super duper time the first time I left the country! Well, let’s get into it.
Up until I graduated high school, I had never been outside of the United States. So a group of really good friends decided that we should go down to Mexico for our senior trip, which sounded great. I finally got to have a passport and everything. We planned the trip for early July. Since I had just graduated from high school, I had a really busy summer. I had maybe a week or so free before things just started piling on. First, because I was the first kid to go off to college, my parents were really big on the getting everything set up far, far in advanced just to make sure things went smoothly. I had all my stuff for my new dorm bought within a week and then proceeded to pack everything that wouldn’t be mandatory until the final move out in August.
Next, it was orientation time. So, up to Austin my mom and I go for orientation both to the college and to my dorm. We were up there for a little over a week. The day after we came home, we left for LA. My graduation present from my aunt was a shopping trip/mommies and daughters week. So it was me, my mom, two aunts and two cousins hanging out in LA for the week, shopping, eating, and playing around Warner Bros. Studios (and ohmahgawd they had the Harry Potter stuff up and they were ok with people touching things so I TOUCHED ALL THE THINGS. I also got Sorted into Slytherin, and there were two little kids on the tour who couldn’t understand why I was pleased with that).
So by the time I got home for that, I had one day’s rest before we were leaving for Mexico. I spent that day with one of my guy friends who was also going on the trip, packing his suitcase because he seemed to think he could make it through 6 days and 5 nights on just two swimsuits and three t-shirts.
So we get up to Mexico. We stayed at a nice resort, and the chaperone parents let us loose as soon as we got our little all-inclusive wristbands. Advantage. We took advantage of those things. One of the guys had (who am I kidding, still has) a bad habit of smacking cups around when he’s been drinking. Thus, one of our favorite quotes of the weekend. He slapped a cup so that a full drink spilled all over the ground. When we turned to ask him what the hell, he just grinned and said “It’s ok. Open bar.” Touche, sir.
So the first couple of days go just about as one might expect. We have delightful, tropical drinks, eat some nice food, and hang out by the pool or on the beach. One night, one of the girls got pitifully drunk (she puked up her retainer that had two teeth built into it and it got flushed), but by the next morning everything was normal. That was back when we were young and hangovers didn’t exist. So some of us wake up early and decide to go get a nice breakfast. One of the girls, Kaylee, and I run up to our rooms to change into fresh bathing suits and sundresses before meeting the boys downstairs. We start walking and we pass by some place where we guessed they were moving trash, and it smelled awful, so obviously we made a few comments.
And here’s where things get fuzzy.
I honestly don’t remember much of the rest of the day. I only know things because I was told later. Apparently, as we’re passing by this smelly area, I start to fall to the ground. It’s not a dead drop, but just a slow collapse. The rest of the group thought I was joking around about the smell until they looked back and saw that my nose was bleeding. And then I dropped for real. Cue the freakouts. The guy who I packed for, Frank, stayed with me while the other guy, Alex, ran off to find some kind of official because he was fluent in Spanish. Kaylee runs upstairs to get everyone else. Apparently, the manner in which she woke the others up was to run into the room and scream “LAUREN IS HAVING A SEIZURE AND BLEEDING AND MAYBE DYING!” And then she runs away again, leaving everyone to try to process what she’s just screamed.
The next time I have any sort of awareness, I’m lying on an infirmary bed with monitors all over my chest and dried blood on my face. Alex is on the phone, speaking in Spanish to some strangers and then translating into the phone. The chaperone dad, who is this big guy with a big belly and booming voice, is all puffed up declaring that someone “bring the jet.” I was so confused.
Finally someone noticed that I was awake and tried explaining things to me. I don’t really remember anything between that and them putting me in a wheelchair and wheeling me out to an ambulance. Kaylee rode up in front, and Frank stayed in the back with me. This was a point in time where the two of us were very close friends. We’re still friends, but there’s definitely been some drifting apart over the years. But at this point, he’s just about my best friend, and later he told me that he was scared to death and was just trying to make me laugh for the whole ride. I don’t remember a bit of that except for specifically picking him to sit in the back with me.
So, I spent the afternoon in the hospital getting fluids pumped into me. They put the IV in on the side of my wrist, and I remember being like “No, no, there’s bone there.” Also, they took out my contacts for some reason, but I didn’t notice that until the next day when I realized that I couldn’t see shit.
It was concluded that I’d had a really nasty heat stroke and was badly dehydrated. My dad, to this day, believes that I was drunker than a skunk, but I’d admit it if I had been. I’d been tame the previous night, and hadn’t touched anything that day before the little episode. And obviously, I didn’t drink any after that except to chug down bottled water. When I got back to the resort, everyone went and got me food and lots of water, and they all piled on my bed and we watched movies. I couldn’t tell you the plot or title of any of them.
I think we were only down there one, maybe two nights longer after that. But it certainly was a very interesting way to start of being out of the country. My second Mexico trip wasn’t nearly so eventful. I just got really tan that time.
Why I Care Aout Celebrities
I think this is kind of an interesting topic choice because as a whole, I don’t care about celebrities. Mostly, I kind of hate them. A lot of them are pretentious. A lot of them are terrible, terrible role models. A lot of them have no discernable talents, yet for some reason, they’re plastered over magazines. Mostly I hate (hate is a strong word, it’s really more that I’m indifferent to their existance) them, but of course there are exceptions to the rule.
There are some celebrities that I don’t like but that are out there doing things to try and better the world. Angelina Jolie for example. I don’t like her at all, but she does deserve some props for giving her rainbow of babies a good home. Those kids otherwise would have grown up in poor or hostile environments, and that’s good of her to be out there trying to make it better for at least some of them and encouraging others to do the same.
But I guess this post is about celebrities that I care about, ones that I like. Let’s start with the tried and true. Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I love these guys. They are hilarious, and I really appreciate their brand of “all or nothing” humor. I think that’s the way to go. Either comedy should be able to take a stab at everyone or no one. Because it’s not fair to let one group be exempt from scorn but stick another under a spotlight. Obviously, there are some things that should never be made light of. Example, on the South Park episodes (or the entirety of Team America) that dealt with 9/11, they made fun of the Taliban or the conspiracy theorists, never, never of the Towers falling and the loss of life. So, Matt and Trey. I love them, I appreciate all the stuff they’ve put out, and I will continue to do so until they’re ready to be done with it.
Other amazing actors include Marlon Brando, Robert DeNiro, Harrison Ford, Leonardo DiCaprio, Heath Ledger, and Audrey Hepburn.
The Iron Man movies and getting into the swing of comic fandom here on Tumblr has made me like Robert Downey, Jr. I just really, really love the fact that he is Tony Stark. I also particularly love his handsome face. Also, I think it’s great that he’s been able to come back from some very, very low points in his life. I’m sure there are days that are struggles for him, but if he’s still fighting it then I salute him. I also am liking Chris Evans for some of the same reasons I like RDJ. He’s very attractive, and the fandom endears me more to him. Plus, he seems like an adorable and genuinely nice person. If RDJ is Tony Stark, then Chris Evans is Steve Rogers. I’m okay with this.
I like things I’m hearing about Anne Hathaway. I enjoyed her in the Princess Diaries movies, and I’m really interested in seeing how she does as Selina Kyle (the pictures I’ve seen look great and she looks incredibly classy and beautiful). I like the fact that she’s very public in her support of gay rights. I think that’s great. I mention my thumbs up stance on the queer scale around my family and they give me funny looks. She’s out there with a spotlight on her face campaigning. Good for you, Anne Hathaway. You continue to stay wonderful.
I mostly only care about celebrities if I care about the characters they play. I like Emily Deschanel because I like Temperance Brennan. I like Will Ferrell because his characters almost always crack me up (his SNL run and Elf, I just can’t even). I like Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, and Misha Collins because I really like Team Free Will (also, good Lord, could you boys be any more attractive and adorable? And J2 are from TEXAS). I like Neil Patrick Harris because, come on, who doesn’t?
My caring of celebrities is based on what shows or movies I care about at any given moment. The vast majority of them I am indifferent to, and I really don’t like the idea of celebrity gossip rags. Something I really don’t like is the paparazzi. Those people have no sense of boundaries. Yeah, sometimes it’s interesting to see a picture of some celebrity. But if I want to see that, I want to see it on the set of whatever they’re working on. I want to see it on the red carpet or at a Comic Con. I don’t necessarily need to see them walking out of the grocery store or taking their kids to the park. If I see it and if it’s a nice or cute picture, you know, that’s fine and all, but the fact that some of these people are basically just hounded by photographers isn’t really ok. I feel bad for them in that sense. If they don’t want to be bothered on their off time, that should be respected, and people definitely shouldn’t get butthurt about them being short with people sometimes. After a long day’s work, I’m sure you’d like to just get home and curl up on the couch and not be bothered too. I mean, the captions on those pictures in magazines say things like “Look! Celebrities spend time with their kids just like you! Look! Celebrities drink coffee just like you! Look! Celebrities have to eat food and breathe air. just. like. you!” That, to me, is out of control and unnecessary.
Anyway, end rant. Celebrities aren’t really a big thing in my life. That’s not to say I wouldn’t be a little bit of a fangirl if I ever got to meet one that I do like. Because I probably would. To those that I like and appreciate, keep on keeping on, guys.
100 Facts About Yourself
Oh wow. 100? Deep breath, here we go!
1. Sprite is my favorite coke
2. I like salty snacks much more than sweets
3. My favorite video game is Zelda: OoT because I’m a boss at it
4. I wish I had the equipment/skill to take artsy photos
5. I like pictures, but I don’t like to be the one in charge of taking them
6. I wish I hadn’t thrown away all of my old sketch books, if only to see how awful I used to draw
7. I like to have a huge collection of movies, even if I haven’t seen a lot of them
8. I want to get into painting, but I don’t have the money for it
9. I tend to push things off until the very last minute
10. Being allowed to confront [my uncle’s wife], [my grandfather’s wife], and [my grandfather] about the shit they’ve pulled would be one of the most satisfying things I can imagine
11. Watching Greek makes me wish I had been more active in my sorority
12. I wish I knew sign language and Italian
13. I really want to go to Europe but I have no interest in being on or above the open ocean
14. Just about all of my creativity comes out in the form of fan fiction and fan art
15. I don’t like people getting on my computer because I don’t trust them to not dig around and find all my fandom related nerdness
16. A significant portion of the stories on my kindle are fic
17. When I’m out in public by myself, I pretend to press buttons on my phone to not seem awkward
18. My favorite music is showtunes and soundtrack related
19. The Beatles are my favorite all-time band, but I only listen to them in spells
20. I’m more vain than I’d like to admit, and my biggest motivating factor for looking good is based on how my friends lookRead more
So, I keep a word document that I use as a diary of sorts, just a place where I can vent all of my frustrations about life without bothering other people. Along with that, I found a list of fun blogging themes, and I thought I’d share some of them. Some are too personal, not personal in the sense of I don’t want to share my feelings, but personal in the sense that there’s a lot of names that no one following me would know, thus making the entire post pointless. But I thought I’d post some of the general ones, even though I’m sure no one really cares.
Part 1: 10 things you can’t do anymore
This is actually really hard. Is this ten things your can’t do or ten things you shouldn’t do because you’re too old? Maybe two lists are needed.
Ten Things I Can’t Do Anymore
1. Academically make up for laziness at UT
2. Run for sorority office
3. Eat more than one doughnut
4. Play video games for more than twenty minutes
5. Drink shots
6. Play volleyball with some semblance of skill
7. Walk long distances or stand for long periods of time without my knee aching
8. Watch 95% of children’s programming without cringing
9. Drop everything I’m doing on a whim for a senior-year style roadtrip/adventure
10. Dunk my head underwater without an ear plug
Ten Things I Shouldn’t Do Because I’m Too Old (But Would Do In A Heartbeat)
1. Play in a ball pit/playground/jungle gym
2. Squeal/get really passionate over fictional characters
3. Skip classes with no thought to the consequences
4. Swear by the music of boy bands and pop princesses
5. Spend the majority of roadtrips blasting Disney music
6. The Hoedown Throwdown. Any time, any place
7. Stay up all hours of the night plowing through seasons of TV shows, resulting in sleeping in past 9:00 (or noon, whatever)
8. TOPs/Sears/Glamour Shots/etc. style photo shoots
9. Recreate college experiences after college (i.e., Round Up, forts, under-the-table-claw-action)
10. Email wars featuring Pokémon, Zelda, Star Wars, Sonic the Hedgehog, Batman, memes, and walking into Mordor, among other things
Additionally, my friend just sent me an email with this picture (found on The Daily What). Enjoy.