oh, snap - this shit just got real!

So...I love "The Real World."

And before you rush to judge me, hear me out.

Those of you that know me, know that I am (or claim to be) a pop culture junkie. I enjoy reality TV (but even I have limits - I won't hesitate to channel flip as soon as "Hogan Knows Best" comes on the VH1), and I indulge in some of my favorite supermarket tabloids.

I enjoy some other shows, some "quality" shows as well. And I read. Literature.

But heaven help me, I love "The Hills" (if you ask me, Audrina is only setting herself up for heartbreak, and Heidi knows that she is a backstabbing bitch), and I don't exactly avert my eyes when I hear Hilary Duff crooning, "cause perfect, doesn't seem so perfect..." telling me that "Newport Beach" is on the telly.

However, I digress.

I love "The Real World."

I used to be a loyal fan for several seasons. Hawaii hooked me, I was nuts for New Orleans, and I was mesmerized by Miami. I've found some of the most recent "Real Worlds" to be a little lackluster. Albeit Brooke was pretty entertaining last season, I just wasn't captivated.

And while there isn't one character (that's right, these perpetuated stereotypes on the show are merely characters to me) that I just love, LOVE, there are several that I enjoy watching. There's Shauvon, the blonde journalist (who can't spell, as Kaitie pointed out in one of her columns they showed on TV she interchanged "your" for "you're" - and unforgivable sin in my book) with magnificent breasts of circus-like proportions; Isaac, the rough-around-the-edges, bad boy turned good guy, skin-head K-Fed lookalike (who is actually really really funny); and my personal fave, Parisa, the gorgeous, smart Persian Muslim who is a little bit curvier than the other girls and hands out her opinions much like the door greeter gives out smiley stickers at walmart ("here you go, here's one for you...").

All that being said, I have found one of the roommates to be an absolute train wreck 20-year-old Texan party girl KellyAnne is so fucking annoying, yet I love to hear the shit that spews from her mouth. She's an idiot, and I can't help but be reminded of a lot of girls I know when I hear her talk. She always supplies the most interesting remarks in every show. My personal favorite from tonight was, "He doesn't know that in high school, my nickname was 'Cock Tease.' More importantly, he doesn't know the real truth - that I am one." She says it with such conviction and sincerity that I simply must believe her.

This is MTV's mini-bio on her:
Twenty-year-old Texan KellyAnne doesn't just show up to the party; she loves to be the center of it, too. She's a self-described tease who craves the attention of men. She's hot and she knows it, which she uses to her advantage. KellyAnne's parents divorced as soon as she graduated high school, and their difficult spilt led to her trouble trusting men. Despite all of the drama that might have come her way, KellyAnne just wants to have fun.

Don't we all, KellyAnne. Don't we all.

KellyAnne's partner in crime is Trisha, a loudmouthed twit from Fresno, California. The two girls decided to room together after first meeting each other and deeming one another "Omigod! Totally cool!" Trisha, along with KellyAnne, has been put in her place by Parisa at least once this season. She once made this intelligent argument: "That's fine, whatever. You want to be a child, and act like you're two, I'll act like I'm one! You need to like, hold on to your friends because you have like, what? Five?" This last statement cause KellyAnne to be truly speechless as she watched the spat like a tennis match.

Another one of my favorite Trisha moments had to be when fuming over Parisa's audacity to challenge her, she asked Isaac, "Do you absolutely hate me? Do you like me?", to which he responded, "I really don't know yet."

Here's what MTV.com had to say about the fun-loving party gal:
Trisha is a sharp-tongued party girl from California who enjoys drinking, flirting, and flaunting herself with the popular crowd. Raised as a devout Christian by her adoptive parents, 19 year-old Trisha greatly values her faith. She recently committed to a serious relationship with her boyfriend, shedding her self-proclaimed "virgin party girl" image. Trisha is talkative and opinionated and will do whatever it takes to make her voice heard.

I'm just wondering...she shed her "virgin party girl image"? Which part did she shed, the partying or the virgin...ing? Is she a whore that loves to stay home and bake cookies and knit sweaters?

There are so many more moments that stand out in my mind, and I know that there is so much left to come, as this Real World is still very young, with a mere four episodes under its belt. But I do know one thing.

I'll be right here on my futon, waiting.

marching to the beat of a different crayola

There are so many things that stick out to me about my school years, especially kindergarten.

I was in Mrs. Barton's class, along with about half of my graduating class. Little did I know, many of the same kids with whom I used to spend hours gluing pencil boxes together and trading crayons would be the same kids I would stand beside as I tossed my graduation cap high into the air outside of Wallace Hall a mere 13 years later.

But I digress.

I remember crawling up into Mrs. Barton's big orange chair, which always seemed to be so much bigger to the 5-year-old me, and reading to all the other kids from my latest library book. Among those selections were such literary classics as One Fish, Two Fish and Stone Soup.

I also remember being Mrs. Barton's special assistant and getting to go on errands and such during naptime while the rest of my juvenile classmates sleep on their plastic fold-out mats, pretending to nap.

I felt invincible.

One of my favorite times, however, was when we were given papers on which I was able to use my favorite things of all – crayons.

I loved to color. One of my most treasured gifts as a kid was this special Crayola turnstile that you could put your crayons on and gently spin when you needed to view the full array of your crayons, all right there at arm's length. It even had a sharpener built in. Perfection.

I remember slapping a kid (I still remember his name, Frankie) in the face because he spun my turnstile around so hard that all the crayons went flying.

He deserved it. And it would have been much worse had the teacher not stopped me. God help Frankie if I ever run into him in a dark alley…

And again, I digress.

One day, the teacher passed out a coloring sheet to all us eager kindergarteners. I was ecstatic. For this was no ordinary coloring sheet…oh no. It had special rules and directions. Kind of like a puzzle.

My specialty.

There were caterpillars on it, I believe. Or maybe ladybugs. Whatever. They were bugs that crawl. The amount of legs makes no difference.

There were rules such as, "Look at these two bugs. (I did.) Color the bug on the left orange, then color the bug on the right blue. (Piece of cake.)"

Moving on.

"There are 10 bugs here. (Duh, I could count.) Pick two colors. (I chose red and green – Christmas colors!). Color seven bugs one color, and color three bugs another color. (Child's play, I said to myself.)"

I set to work. I started first with my green crayon. One green bug…two green bugs…and so on until I had colored seven green bugs…or so I thought.

Being ever methodical and OCD, even as a child, I put my green crayon away, right then. I didn't want to risk losing it, or breaking it, or even worse – having someone steal it. (The worst thing I could do was to let my precious green fall into the grimy, grubby hands of Frankie.)

I set out to coloring my red bugs with my freshly sharpened red crayon. One…two…three…four…wait a minute.

Four?

There were only supposed to be three red bugs.

Apparently I had begun on the seventh green bug, but something distracted me (as usually it did), and I had forgotten to completely color the last of the green bug.
But I had already packed my green crayon away…I didn't want to have to get it back out again.

I looked from the page, to the crayon in my hand, back to the page again.

Eh.

I decided that I would just do what I thought was the most logical thing.

Rather than go through all the trouble of getting out of box and unpacking my green crayon again, I would simply fill in the white spots with my red crayon. It would look nice and complete, and no one would be the wiser. Besides. My teacher would see that I had started coloring it green and merely topped it off with a touch of red. She might even be impressed. And I had stayed inside the lines the whole time. After all, I was the colorer who had won coloring contests at the local K-Mart. I knew what I was doing.

Anyway – I was one of her favorites. Right?

So I did it.

Imagine my shock when the teacher passed our papers back out and I had less than satisfactory marks on my paper.

It took me years before I realized what I had done wrong.

I guess the moral of the story is, don't take shortcuts. Because in the end, you'll only be left with a red-and-green bug and a sad face.

At least, that's what I got.

intense sexual urges

I knew that might get some of your attention...

Okay, so. A new blog is currently in the works. My internship has kept me busy, but I do have an update that is well overdue. Right now, however, I give you with this.

I'm not sure if any of you are familiar with the drug Mirapex. It's used to treat "restless leg syndrome" or "RLS." I remember hearing about RLS in my psychology 101 class, and I'm sure it is a very real thing.

However, when one decides to medicate for something such as this, you have to be wary of many things.

Among those are the side effects a drug may have on a person. And there are no more interesting side effects than those for the drug Mirapex. I recently saw an ad on TV for Mirapex, and I had to take a minute out of my day to sit down and ask myself, "which is worse?"

(The following is taken directly from the website, www.mirapex.com.)

Interesting fact about Mirapex 1:

"Before you take MIRAPEX, be sure to tell your doctor if you have any problems with low blood pressure, dizziness, or becoming light-headed."

Um, yes, I happen to have a problem with becoming light-headed and dizzy. I happen to not like that a lot, unless it is intentionally self-induced. Then again, it does go on to say that you should also tell your doctor if you use alcohol or cigarettes. That's a pretty big portion of the population. However, any time I have used either of the two, light-headedness and dizziness was a desired effect. Taking Mirapex would problem eliminate my need for alcohol or cigarettes, along with getting rid of my RLS. Kill two proverbial birds with one stone, if you will.

Interesting fact about Mirapex 2:

"MIRAPEX may cause you to fall asleep without any warning, even while doing normal daily activities such as driving."

Wait a minute…what? That doesn't seem like side effect to me, it seems like a freakin safety hazard. I imagine that would probably have a severe effect on my daily life, the whole "falling-asleep-while-driving" thing. I just really feel like that would be a deal-breaker for me. I find driving while I'm asleep to be just a tad difficult.

Interesting fact about Mirapex 3:

"There are reports of some people having hallucinations (seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling, or tasting something that does not actually exist) while taking MIRAPEX."

Tingling sensation in the legs, hallucinations…tingling sensation in the legs, tasting things that aren't really there…wow, that's a tough decision. So, if I go on Mirapex, will I also have to go on drugs for my hallucinations? And also…freedom from pain, plus seeing things that aren't really there? This sounds like another "drug" I know of…
And now, the best for last…

Interesting fact about Mirapex 4:

"There have been reports of patients taking…MIRAPEX, that have reported problems with increased sex drive, gambling, and compulsive eating…If you or your family members notice that you are developing unusual behaviors, talk to your doctor."

Whoa, whoa. Whoa. You had me until you got to "compulsive eating." And since when did increased sex drive and gambling become "unusual behaviors"?
I guess you're in trouble in you are on your way to a booty call, a dog track, or a grocery store during the day time, though…you may very well fall asleep in the car.


And now…I present you with the informative Mirapex commercial. It leaves me feeling a little less than Mirapex-tacular. I think I'll just deal with the RLS.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NKl8AjyHbeY

a little rain must fall

Last year, I thought I understood loss.

I lost one friend in a terrible car accident that left his fiance badly injured and broken-hearted.

Shortly before that, my best friend from high school lost her husband in a severe and tragic way. She was six months pregnant at the time.

I thought that was the hardest thing I would ever have to do.

Until this past week.

Baby Noah was born on December 14, 2006. A beautiful little boy, he looked just like his daddy - blonde-haired and blue-eyed. he was the apple of his mother's eye, a truly animated and charismatic baby.

These past few days, he had been feeling a little sick, but no one thought it could be anything too serious. However, on Monday morning, his grandmother took him to the pediatricians. The doctors there had him airlifted immediately to Children's Hospital in Birmingham.

It was later found out that he had a tumor on his liver and extensive internal bleeding. Surgeons did the best they could to stop the bleeding, but there was nothing they could do. Noah died on Tuesday afternoon in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit of Children's Hospital.

He was just 7 months old.

I thought the hardest thing I would ever have to do would be to help my best friend say good-bye to her husband.

Now, tomorrow afternoon, I will be there as she lays her only baby boy to rest.

The only comfort is in knowing that he will finally be able to rest in his daddy's arms.

This is so hard for me to understand. Why does life work in such a terrible, terrible way? Why would life deal her such a cruel twist of fate?

There are not words to express the way she must be feeling. There is nothing I can offer to her. I have nothing inside left to feel.

Go home and tell your mother and father that you love them so very much...squeeze your husband or wife on the arm, appreciate that they are there.

And if you have children...hug them and hold them and love on them like you will never let them go.

You never know when the opportunity to do just that could be torn right out of your grasp.

it was the best. day.

A week or so back, Kaitie and I ventured to the city for a cousin's birthday party. Said cousin was turning 8, and the party was at a place that had laser tag. Needless to say, we did not play.

However, that had little to do with the best day ever.

No, the best day ever occurred at a necessary intermittent stop at the local Wal Mart to grab a bite to eat.

We went the Wal Mart deli, which always seems to have, quite possibly, the best food. After purchasing some chicken tenders and potato wedges, we headed over to the snack bar to dine.

Upon sitting down, I told Kaitie that I would take the quarter that I knew I had in my pocket and purchase a Sam's Choice Diet Cola for us to share. Arriving at the soda machine, I inserted my quarter and was soon disappointed to discover that my change fell all the way down without giving me a chance to make my selection.

Damn it.

I went to the next machine, a Sam's Choice Water machine. Not quite the same when you're expecting soda, but it would have to do. If only I had a dime, I though, since the waters were 35 cents compared to the quarter sodas. I shoved my hands down in my pocket and was pleased to discover that I did, in fact, have a dime! Not only that, but I also had a nickel, too!

I put my money in this machine and heard the satisfying clunk of my change landing to rest on the other change inside the machine and pressed one of the 10 buttons to vend my water.

Unfortunately, every single water was sold out.

Damn it.

Dejected, I went to get my change out of this machine. As I collected my coins, I found a most pleasant surprise: someone had left a dime in the machine! With this and the newfound nickel I had in my other pocket, I would be able to buy a real soda for Kaitie and I to share!

I moseyed (is that the correct spelling for the past tense of the word "mosey"? It just doesn't look right. Anyway. I digress.) over to the name brand soda machine and settled on a Diet Dr Pepper. I hit the vend button, and I held my breath to make sure it would, in fact, vend.

The soda landed with a satisfying thunk. Little did I know, there was another special treat waiting for me.

As I went to retrieve my DDP, I noticed that there was, in fact, not one but TWO (two!) sodas. Someone had - inadvertenly, no doubt - left a Diet Pepsi to sit and wait for some thirsty person like me to come and rescue it.

I practically skipped my way back to Kaitie at the snack bar to tell her my story.

It was the best day.

my sister rocks

I love childhood memories.
And I especially love those memories that are attached to my older sister, Autumn. Having a sister has definitely made growing up so much more fun, although there were many times that I thought I hated her and wished I never had a sister.

But I never meant it. Most of the time. My sister has grown to be my best friend.

When we were kids, we used to ride the bus to school every day. (Up until they rezoned the bus routes and we had to ride Coach Sherrill's bus instead of Ms. Elrod's bus, and we were instantly transformed into 'car riders.') For a long time, we even sat together. As a child, I felt as if she protected me from all the evils on the bus.

And oh, were there evils on the bus.

After a little while, we had assigned seating on the bus. And it was awful. I remember sitting in the back half of the bus while the high school girls used to talk about things that would make my third-grade ears burn. And on those frightening days when my sister was sick or for some reason didn't ride the bus, I had to face it all alone.

Oh, the bus.

But I digress.

Every morning, my sister and I would rise from our bunk beds (which were later disconnected and placed side by side), get dressed, eat a quick breakfest (for Autumn, a raw hot dog; for me, a strawberry Pop-Tart with no icing), grab our lunches and go wait for our bus.

I remember on one fateful morning, around 645 or 700, we were standing, waiting. After a moment or two of pensive thought while staring at the ground, my sister turned to me.

"Look at that rock," she said, pointing to it with her toe. "It looks like a penguin."

I squinted, careful not to drop my fluorescent pink Tupperware lunchbox. "Really?" The rock looked like a teapot to me.

"Yeah," she said, almost daring me to challenge her.

And since she was almost five years my senior and everything she said to me was gospel, I nodded my head. "You are so right."

Not to be left out and desperate for my sister to think I was cool, I quickly scanned the ground and found a rock that was pretty much like all the others, rounded and ovally-shaped, perfectly smooth and protruding from the ground.

"Whoa, look at this one," I said, tapping it with my foot.

Autumn leaned closer, then asked, "Yeah? What is it?"

"It looks like a whale," I said proudly, obviously pleased with my find.

"Which part looks like the whale?" Apparently she was not convinced.

I knelt down and ran my fingers along the smooth, arced surface. "Right here. It looks like a whale's back."

My sister scoffed, and I straightened back up. Then she said, "I know what we should do. We should stand on our rocks every single day while we wait for the bus. And one day, the kids on the bus will start to notice that we stand in the exact same spot every day, and they'll wonder how we do it. No one will know that we have these rocks to hold our places. I'll bet even the bus driver will notice."

When she got finished talking, she smiled and assumed her position on top of her rock, the penguin-slash-teapot. Ever the dutiful little sister, I stood on top of my whale-rock, waiting for the bus to come and take us away.

And so we did, every morning, for the rest of that school year.

I kept waiting and waiting for some one to notice, flashing a knowing smile at my sister as we climbed aboard our yellow chariot.

"How do you two do it," they would ask. "How do you stand in the exact same spot, every single day?"

No one ever did.

too hot to handle

I will never even begin to understand the human instinct.

Why do we do some things, even when we know the outcome may possibly be less than desirable?

As many of you may know (and if you don't, do you even read my blogs?), I work in a restaurant in The Great Little Big City. And I have to say, my sampling of the human race that serves as our restaurant patrons do not give me much hope.

I've had people ask stupid questions, say stupid things, and order things like "hush puppies" and "onion rings" (we have neither).

But there is one thing I have noticed without fail.

However, let me preface this next bit with a little background info (as always).

We have recently installed new glo-rays at work. This now means that our plates, which are normally pretty hot, are now unbearably hot, within just a matter of minutes. I mean, it's almost impossible to leave a plate there for even the amount of time it takes to assemble it and then be able to pick it up again. The glo-rays are good for food temps, bad for fingertips.

Which brings me to my observation.

As I deliver these said piping-hot plates to picky patrons, I always say, "These plates are very, very hot. Do NOT touch them. In fact, it would be in your best interest to just merely eat the food right off the plate, right where it is, unless you want your flesh to melt together in a most horrific way." (Okay, that last part was an embellishment, but that is exactly how hot these plates can get.)

You would think this would be an ample warning.

Oh, no.

People take plates from me, grab them out of my hands, and then utter some curse and proceed to drop it on the table. Oh, golly gee, I wish I would have TOLD you the plate was hot, you fucktard.

Or another reaction, one of my favorites, is when you set the plate down and people automatically feel the need to look to see if you're looking and then grab the plate. I'm sorry, did you think this was a test of strength? I will win, believe me you. Or they give it a quick quarter-turn one way, then another quarter-turn back. What the hell was that? Does that make it taste better? Do you want to shift the food around a bit? Or is it just that necessary that you touch your plate to see if it is hot, then you want everything to think that you had reason to touch it. As you turn your plate, others that so patiently waited and tried to avoid first-degree burns will turn to one another, nod and say, "Oh, yes. He had to turn his plate. It was absolutely essential that he touched his plate."

There are variations of this example of the human instinct.

For example, when you get a taste of something really gross, and you spit out the offending material and then lean to the person next to you and suggest that they take a taste as well.

Or when you smell something really horrible and then try your hardest to contain that smell so that someone else can smell it and back you up on the fact that yes, it does indeed, smell.

But you know what? I'm guilty of it, too. I make the wrong decisions, too, a LOT, and it always seems like I end up getting burned.

Anyway. That's all. Just something I was thinking about.