Hypnosis

I just watched the first two episodes of Tru Blood. I think it's fair to say that I am obsessed. I love the accents of the people and find them to be fairly accurate. True, people in Baton Rouge usually don't have accents that extreme, but in the more rural areas there are totally people who sound like that.

I should like Sam, the bartender, because he is cute and caring.  But when I think of those things I only hear "pussy", which isn't too appealing.

So we move onto the vampire, Bill. He's the one to be with. Here's the kind of math I like to do: 

forbidden + mysterious + dangerous + protective = Perfection. 

I am only two episodes in, so my opinion is subject to change, but as of now, I think my lust will only get stronger.

I know that vamps can seduce people with only their eyes, but I don't think it's just them. I think if you're attractive (or not) you can still use your stare as your charm. The best way to disarm someone is to look them in their eyes and not say anything. You have to do this perfectly, though, there's a thin line between being an eye-raping creeper and a confident stud/temptress.

I use this on my sources sometimes, when I want them to keep talking, and it often works.

So today I've been trying to use the gaze for more personal reasons. I've been staring at myself in the mirror, fluctuating intensities, trying to figure out what is the most seductive. But mostly, I just find that if I stare too long it makes me seem like I only have one eye and this makes me giggle. Or else I discover that I really need to pluck my eyebrows. That's not what I want my victim to think about when I've got him in my grip.

So, I've decided to practice it on innocent people to get their response. Until then, I'm using it on spoons, chairs, stuffed animals, posters, dvd covers, computers, water fountains- anything I can look at gets the gaze.

I'll report back with my findings.

Past, Present or Future: who are you?

I had a wonderful dream. This post is going to be about said dream, despite what Dennis thinks about other people's dreams. He says that if he's not in them or somebody's not having sex in it, he doesn't want to hear it. I tend to agree. But, as this is my blog, I'm going to write about my dream.

I remember sitting at a lunch table between two guys. The one on my left side was apparently my boyfriend, who we'll call Joe. The one on my right was a stud-muffin who wanted me. We'll call him Chuck (I didn't recognize either of the two, but I have always been obsessed with the name 'Chuck' so we'll call him that).

So I'm sitting next to my bf when Chuck leans in and whispers "so have you told him yet?"
I giggle, "Nope."
"Want me to?"
"Not at all."
"Ok, then I'm going to make this uncomfortable for you."
"Go ahead and try."

Then, under the table he puts his hand on my knee and starts caressing it. I giggle.

Joe, who was absorbed in the sandwich he was eating, turns and looks at me and says "What's funny, what'd I miss?"
"I don't know Joe, can't a girl laugh?"
"I guess."
He goes back to eating his food. I elbow Chuck in his side, "stop it, we can't do this."
"It looks like we already are."

With that I stand to take my leave. "Hey Joe, I gotta go. I'll catch ya later, though."
"Ok, bye. Kiss?"
"No time."

I'm exiting when I feel a hand on my lower back, to discover that Chuck has followed me. Throughout the dream, whenever he and I are walking together, he is guiding me with his hand on the small of my back. I loved it very much.

"Chuck we are so bad." We stop in the hallway and gaze into each other's eyes. His are brown with blackish hair and scruff, like he hasn't shaven in a few days. Though we're in a high school, we're actually in our 20s. He looks so familiar, but I can't place him. "You want to make-out with me now, don't you?" he asks. "You cocky bastard... yes, I do," I say, but then the person narrating the dream says "Who are you?"

I wake up, and say aloud "who is he who is he who is he?" To which I answer "a dream guy." "No, he's real." "Can't you concentrate on the message of the dream instead of the dude?" "How can I do that? I have to know who he is." "So be it." And yes, all of that was spoken aloud by myself.

I fall back asleep. This time we're looking at a ship.
"Wanna get on my boat?" he asks.
"That's yours?"
"Sure."
We hop on. Then we see this huge Titanic size boat in the distance.
"Omg, omg! Look, another boat! No one ever uses this port," I scream, excitedly.
"They must've heard we were here and decided to come," Chuck said.

But then, when they got close, the ocean opened up and swallowed them. This caused our boat to rock and I flew out into the water. I panically started to swim, knowing I would die. I go under, but then I find some extra energy inside of myself and I kick extra hard, making it to the boat and climb inside.

"Haha, you're all wet," Chuck said.
"Shut up and give me your phone, we have to call 9-1-1."
"Do we?"
"Yes, I'm not going to die out here, goddamn you." I take his phone and call for help. After a while, some scantilly clad nurses arrive. But they just stand in the water, staring at us.

"Aren't you going to help us?" Chuck asks.
"Got your blood test results?" One of the blondes ask.
"What?"
"You have to prove that you're important enough to be saved, with your blood."
"This is rediculous!" I yell.
"Wait Jess, look. They're standing in the water- it's only going to their knees."
"So?"
"So, it means we can jump."
"What? I don't wanna jump!"
"Trust me," he says, grabbing my hand. Together we leap from the boat and land on the shore.
"Well I feel silly now," I say.

There's mayhem and people are running everywhere. He places his hand where he always does and says, "c'mon, let's get out of here." We walk for a while until we end up at a press conference for Venus and Serena Williams. We sit down and listen to the ladies talk, except they're not talkng about tennis. They've turned into the Sue Johanson and are talking dirty.

Chuck and I cuddle as we watch.
"How did we meet, Chuck?"
"Have you told Joe yet?"
"I left him a voicemail. But, like, how long have we known each other, I can't remember for some reason." Then he looks me in the eye and says the line he used a lot throughout the dream, "You want to make out we me right now, don't you?"
"It makes me feel awkward when you say that. You make me feel needy."
"I can't make you feel anything. Let's get out of here." I let him pull me away, and then I wake up.

I have the same conversation with myself that I did earlier. I know that I know him in real life, but I just don't know who he is. Then I go back to sleep to find out.

For some reason he and I- among other people- are hanging out in a public restroom. We're just chillin when all of a sudden this madwoman with a tommygun busts in. Chuck and I dive into the nearest stall, lock the door and cling to each other.

The lady struts around, shooting every stall. But for some reason, she skips ours. I hear her leaving, but I am pissed that she skipped us. So, before I can be stopped, I fling myself out of the stall. I raise my hands above my head.

"Stop!" She does. "Don't shoot me, just please don't shoot me."
"Why did you come out?"
"Do you like cake? I bet so. I just want a cookie." That doesn't even make any sense.
"Cake's okay. I'm going to the grocery store after I finish up here, maybe I'll get some."
"Get me some cookie dough while you're there and I'll make us cookies."
"Ok," she says and then turns to leave. I exhale loudly. Then she angrily turns around and shoves the gun in my forehead. "But you're awfully stupid." I say nothing. She chuckles and leaves.

Then I go back into the stall- "oh Chuck, I almost got my fucking face blown-off. My face!"
"You're so bad, so crazy, so bad, so crazy," he chants.
"I know, I know!" I say, over and over, relieved to not be dead.

He's holding my cheeks and we're looking into each other's eyes this whole time, much like the scene in Titanic when Rose and Jack reunite after she's jumped off the lifeboat. Finally we do kiss and it is wonderful.

I wake up. There's a lot I'm leaving out, but I still can't place him. I just know that he's very familiar and I feel like I know him. My friend Sarah says that I knew him in a past life. Maybe so, but I hope he's either in my present or very near future. I just remember that in my dream he was very intense. He was controling when he had to be and submissive when I wanted him to be. He was perfect and I hope he's real.

This entry is just for my record, so I don't forget.

The Crustacean Game

I have this game I like to play in the shower, which I like to call "Lobsty". It's where I pretend that I am a lobster. I have always wondered what it feels like to be boiled alive. Can you imagine it? It would be horrible. Probably because of this fear I hate hot liquids. I don't like them on my face, anyway (insert jokes now please). I wait for my hot chocolate to get cold before I drink it. Coffee and tea creep me out.

Now, I have never personally cooked a shellfish before, but I have heard that you have to put the creature in a cold pot and let it slowly warm up, or else he'll just jump out. I thought this was an interesting observation on the mentality of such a creature. I didn't know they could even jump, but I'm interested in discovering all of their unknown talents.

Anyway, this philosophy applies to me too. If I'm taking a bath and the water's too hot, I can't get in. But once I hope in a lukewarm bath I turn the cold water off and let myself relax in the near-scalding water.

But back to Lobsty. I like to let the shower rain on my back at a medium temperature. Then, I slowly decrease the amount of cold water that comes out. Everything is fine, I can take it, until suddenly it hits me that I'm in bright red pain. Then I snap awake and come to my senses- this is not how I should be playing with myself in the shower. 

I make the water go to a more comfortable temp and go back to thinking about things. There's not going to be an insightful concluding paragraph for this entry.

My bush

This is the bush that served as my restroom that night of great decisions.

My one taboo subject

I consider myself to be a very open person, when it comes to certain things, anyway. I'll talk about anything, except for my feelings, ugh, I like to pretend I have none, which isn't always the case, but in many cases I really am as apathetic as I claim to be. 

There is one thing, however, that I won't talk about. That is politics. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Most of the people I've hung out with have always been liberal. Outspoken (the worst kind) liberals. Normally I just nod and smile when they talk or mutter something under my breath or maybe I let out a contemptuous laugh. Most of the time, though, I don't argue. There's no point. I won't change their mind and they won't change mine.

Also, I tend to look stupid when I attempt to argue about politics. I don't know the names of policies, of many leaders and I can't locate a lot of countries. But that's not really why I don't like to talk about it. Most libs think with their emotions and not with their heads, so then they try to twist me into being some sort of a monster.

Or what's worse is when they condescend to me. "oh, Jess, you'll learn some day." "Oh, you poor, misguided thing." Stuff like that makes me seethe. You're the misguided one. Most young people start out Democrats and then realize the error of their ways and switch to the conservative side when they have a family they want to protect. I'm just ahead of the curve.

I took a test on Facebook today to see what kind of Republican I am and it said I was a "Libertarian Republican". I think that's pretty good. It said I like my government to have little interference when it comes to guns, drugs and taxes.

That's true for the most part. Everyone should own a gun. I wouldn't pick a fight with someone if I thought they were packing. 

I think marijuana should be legal. If we taxed it we could make a bundle and get out of this Obama induced recession ASAP. 

I'm iffy on taxes. I don't think the rich should be taxed more than the poor. It should be a flat rate of like 10% (or whatever the going rate is, I don't know). I feel like the government needs this money to spend on National Defense. Not everyone is created equal. If I were to sneak into Mexico I wouldn't expect to be treated like a Mexican- let's be honest, I'd expect to be treated better, I am an American after all. So that was a bad example. If I snuck into France and tried to take their jobs and leech off their system, then they'd have every right to chase me out with their Minute Men. But if I went through the right procedures and became a legal French citizen then it'd be a different matter.

I'm pro-abortion, despite Horton Hears A Who's attempt to sway me. When I was younger I was very anti-abortion, but now the thought of having a fertilized thing in me makes me want to rollerblade down some stairs.

I think burning the flag should be illegal. It's disgraceful and unpatriotic. I think the Confederate flag is part of the South's heritage and should be waved. 

I'm pro-death penalty, but I think it's not harsh enough. I think if you tortured your victims then you should be tortured. I don't think of prison as rehabilitation but as punishment.

I believe in preemptive attacks. If someone has nukes and we think they'll use them then it's time to take them out. It's better to be safe than sorry. I think the people in the military are noble and brave.

I'm torn about sex-ed. I think abstinence should be taught, but it'd be ignorant to not teach about condoms. But if you teach both, it's like saying "don't smoke weed, but if you do, use a bong because it's better." I guess abstinence is the way to go.

I'm very pro-Patriot Act. I don't like Affirmative Action. I don't have an opinion on national healthcare. I can't talk about the gays. Global Warming is a lie meant to distract from the real issues. I don't like Welfare. Animals shouldn't really have rights (pro-abortion but anti-fur wearing? Doesn't make sense). Michael Moore, Al Gore and Sean Penn need new hobbies (though Penn can keep acting).

Though I didn't vote for the President we have now, I won't badmouth him (unless I feel ganged-up on), it's unpatriotic to do so. The people who talked smack about Bush are rude, naiive, and did so because it was the "in" thing to do, or else lack respect. I hate when I see mean bumper stickers. One of my best friends has one that says "When Clinton Lied Nobody Died," ugh.

Also, I hate it when Democrats claim to be open and loving of everyone. That's so not true. The most judgmental people I've known have been Dems. Maybe because they seem to be the majority they think they can say whatever they want and call conservatives mean names and be big bullies. Conservatives have to slink in the shadows, because once we're found out things change. Suddenly we're thought less of and have people trying to convert us to the left.

A lot of the liberals that I know are blinded by their convictions and stubbornly refuse to consider that maybe they're wrong. Maybe the hipster thing isn't always right. I guess that by wearing supportive t-shirts that have only a vague, mildly inspiring quote on them gives the wearers power, like some sort of cult.

I'm sure there are issues I'm missing. But this is my political rant that I thought would never happen.

move over sidewalk book sales

Lots of places have sidewalk sales- bookstores, clothing stores, crack dens- many businesses operate on the street.

But there is one type that you'll never see having a sidewalk sale and that is the business of death. You'll never see a casket sidewalk sale. This saddens me. America has always been prudish about sex, but must we be so about death as well? I should hope not.

I called my dad, who is a mortician, to tell him my fabulous idea.

"Dad, tell Goldy that I have a super business plan for him."

"Dear God, what is it Jess?"

"Simple, a casket sidewalk sale."

"What?"

"Well, have you ever seen one?"

"Ya know, what? I haven't..."

"Well listen to this and I think you'll set up your outdoor shop tomorrow."

"You've got my ear, Jess."

This is the plan I told him:

You set up a line of your best coffins. You get models to lay in them and make them look fashionable. You can even have "napping caskets" where the general public can lay down and see how it is. "We can even add a hole to make it cold to keep the people comfortable," Dad interrupted. You can also have them lay in the back of the hearse to see what that experience is like.

"Wait a minute, Jess, that won't work. They can't just lay in the back... I guess we could let them lay in a closed casket in the back."

"Sure. Or you can cover them with a sheet and strap 'em to a gurney like it's a fresh pick-up."

Dad laughs, "Oh that's good, that's great."

"Yes, but I'm not done."

I continued: 

You can also lay down a big tarp that has a big bulls-eye in the middle. Then you have a bunch of urns with different colored ashes inside. 

"Human ashes?"

"they can be the unclaimed hobos if you want. Or dogs. Or just soot, whatever. Anyway..."

You let people grab one and throw its contents into the air. Whichever color fills the bulls-eye the most is the expert ash scatterer. If it's not windy you can use fans. It's a family-filled activity that cultivates a skill which may be useful in their near future.

"I don't know about this, Jess."

"You haven't heard it all."

"What else is there?"

"This next idea is mostly for the kids- they need fun too."

"Of course."

"You give the kids Ping-Pong balls and whoever makes it into the urn wins a dead goldfish. Or you could have 'Pick the Flower Arrangement,' which is where-"

"Enough Jess!"

"What?"

"I know you think this is a good idea, but Goldy will never go for it."

"You don't think?"

"No, I don't. It sounds hilarious to me, Peanut, but it ain't going to happen."

"What if I pitch it myself?"

"let it go."

"Will you give civilians the free hearse ride if they want it?"

"I'll think about it."

*** One time my dad's car broke down and we had to use a hearse. It only has one passenger seat. My sis and I took turns riding in the back. Creepy***

Mud and Blood

I was hanging out at with Ameena, Ben and Anthony Tuesday night. We were just chilling, watching "30 Rock," having a good time. Sometime after 1:00 I decided I should leave because I had a class in the morning. I go to the parking lot, get in my car, and start moving.

Then this bikini-clad girl jumps out from the fog in front of my car. She is covered in mud. And blood. I couldn't make this up if I tried. I thought maybe she was just crossing the parking lot, but nope, she stops and stares at me. Holy shit man, this is freaky. Keep moving girl.

The girl does keep moving- right to my car. I didn't know what to do, so I rolled down the window.

"Do you know where the pool is?"

"Um, no, I don't live here."

"I just need to get to the pool."

"It's gotta be around here somewhere," I tell her, wishing she'd hurry up and leave.

"Can you please take me? I'm covered in mud and I'm bleeding." She was covered in mud, but it was dry mud. 

I didn't know what to do. Here's this gross girl, waving a box of cigarettes, asking me for help.

"Sure, hop in," I say. She does. "So why are you all muddy?"

"We were mud-wrestling at the Big Tree and then I woke up in the parking lot." Oh shit.

"Do you live in this complex?"

"Yes."

"I could drop you off at your building instead of the pool if you want."

"No! I have to wash off before I go home." Jesus. So I start moving, and it turns out the pool was at the top of the hill, which is not very far. So I pull over to it.

"Well, we're here," I tell her.

"Can I get out here?"

"Um, I guess, yeah you should." She tries to get out but the door is locked. "Are you going to let me out? Are you going to let me out?" 

Her asking this made me feel bad. For whatever reason, I suddenly thought it seemed like I'd kidnapped her, because she couldn't get out.

"Calm down, the door accidentally locked," I said and unlocked it. Then she jumped out to live her life.

At first I was excited. It was such a weird thing to happen. But then I slowly got scared. Why did I let her in? Before I let her in, the door was locked and she couldn't open it, and when that happened I was sure she was a decoy and her thuggy men were going to beat me and steal Chuck, my car. But I still opened the door for her.

Then, after I realized that I'd put myself in harms way, I decided she was a ghost. She was like that hitchhiking ghost girl who died on her way to Prom and hooks rides with people and then disappears. I was sure that was it. I thought she'd marked me like God marked Cain and was going to come back for me.

I called my mom the next day and told her I could've potentially died. She said I should've called the police. I told her that would've been weird. She said "no, it'd have been smart." She said I could've called the police then sat in the car till they got there if I'd wanted.

She later called me and was like "That cop is going to come kidnap you himself now."

"What are you talking about, crackhead?"

"Remember," she said, "when you were almost kidnapped by that Mexican guy and the cop that came to the house told you if you ever opened the door for a stranger he'd get you himself?" 

That near-kidnapping story will be saved for my next post.

"I remember the Mexican, but not him saying that. That's creepy."

"I guess, but just think about how he'd feel about this, Jess. He's shaking his head at you now."

Meh, maybe. Anyway, the general consensus is that I should've called the cops, but it does seem more exciting my way. I could've at least called one of the boys and made them help me. But I'm no damsel in need of a hero. I am the hero.

Part 4: The Conclusion

After I urinated in the bush, I emerged to find that Kelly had disappeared. I thought we'd lost her somehow. As it turns out, she'd just run across the street and snuck into a bar to use the restroom. I don't think she so much snuck as walked in because we followed her. I could've done that, but then I wouldn't have been able to cross public urination off my list.

After she'd done her business, we loitered outside. Kelly asked us if we had a lighter and no one did. I found it very important that we have a lighter. So I just started chanting, "no lighter, need a lighter, need a lighter," until this dude near us was like "You need a lighter? I've got one." Great. He handed it over and we lit up. 

I don't smoke cigarettes. I find them to be gross. I don't like the smell and I don't like the cancer. But, apparently, I only smoke when I drink, because when Kelly lit it, I begged for a drag. We passed that shit around and I tried not to cough. I would've been very embarrassed had I thrown a coughing fit. As it turns out, that cigarette wasn't originally Kelly's. She'd found it on the ground! I smoke a ground cigarette. I asked her why she picked it up. "It's a Camel and was in the box. It said 'Limited Edition' on it!" Oh, ya don't say? I did hear that tobacco is about to be extinct. Ew, dirty cigarette.

Oh yeah, before this (and before I used the bathroom) we ran into some dudes. Courtney asked them if they had a lighter and they told her no, but they had a wiener. How tacky. Then, a cute one, told me I had great boobs and high-fived me for them. That was a pleasant experience.

So after the smoking incident, we decided to walk to El Rancho for a Sopapilla (or something), on the way there I got out a piece of gum. Big mistake. When the wave of mint hit me, I suddenly got very nauseous. I had to puke. I walked along the street, dry-heaving like a dog. It was gross. Finally, I just puked on the street. I don't think I even stopped walking- I just did it mid-stride. I'm not necessarily proud of this, just stating a fact.

After this, we made it to El Rancho. The girls made me pose on a bench with newspaper, acting like I was homeless, while they took photos. People watched. I got really into it and I'm sure you could see both up and down my dress.

We ran into another guy who was drinking beer on the street and eating pizza. I thought he was very attractive and wanted to take him home. I was told he wasn't cute at all. We'll never know. We all went and composed ourselves at my dirty apartment.

It was a successful evening.

Part Three: The Bush

We stumble to McNally's. As it turns out my tab at On The Rocks was way more than I had thought it would (damn menu with no prices). So I had no money left for a drink at the new bar. Thankfully, out of the goodness of her heart, Ameena offered to help further my inebriation by buying me a Vodka Sprite. It was the way I like my men- very strong.

We found a quiet booth and talked. We talk a lot. Eventually courtney decided she needed another drink. Well, I couldn't let the lady sip alone, so I went to get a refill. The bartender warned us we only had 10 mins to drink it till the bar closed. Ok, I can do that. We get our drinks (which made me overdraw my account, not sure though, I'm afraid to check). When we get back to the table, we decide to race to see who can drink it the fastest. I won! It was surprising as Courtney drank her shots faster than any of us. I was pleased with myself.

Too soon the bouncers were yelling- actually yelling- for everyone to leave. I was indignant. But we stumbled to the street. No sooner had we left then I realized I had to pee and I had to pee bad. Everything was closed, but then someone remembered that there is one building that is always open. I won't tell what this place is, but I will say it's a place full of information.

So, excited, we make our way to the place. On the way, though, I see a fountain and think it's a good idea to lay on the edge of it. I was rocking and rolling all over its ledge. Ameena said I would have fallen in had she not grabbed my arm. She thought about pushing me in, but was afraid I'd slip into a coma or something. She was gracious enough, however, to take photos of me laying on my back with my boob almost all the way out of my top, just chillin by the fountain.

Finally they gathered me and we made it to the pee place. Kelly, my hero, went to the door that is always open and yanked on it. It was locked! I was shocked! I don't know how the building can serve its public duty being locked. However, I have an in with someone who has worked in this place for a very long time, and she said they started locking the door because there was a homeless dude who would come in in the late night and spread his own shit all over the walls. 

So at first I was upset. I was literally going to piss myself. But then a marvelous idea came to me- if dudes can urinate outside, then so can I. Actually, I wasn't feeling like a feminist, I was just drunk.  So I stripped off my leggings and stuffed them in my purse (which Ameena had thankfully grabbed sometime during the night). I said "I am going to pee!"

Then I walked into the bushes and relieved myself. The whole time I was proudly chanting "I'm peeing, I'm peeing!" I also told them exactly how I was doing it- I shifted my undies to the right, fyi, and did my thing. I was very proud of myself.

Little did I know (nor did they, because they claim it was an "accident") they were videotaping my adventure. There is a video of me peeing, and then climbing from the bush on my hands and knees. Imagine: a girl in a pretty yellow dress, emerging from a bush on hands and knees, her hair wild, a big happy grin on her face. This is my life.

Apparently Kelly (Or Court, I don't remember) chanted that they'd pee with me for a quarter, but I guess no one had any change. 

I have to go to class now, but stay posted. The night only goes downhill (gets better) from there.

Part Two: Overheard Perv

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Part One: Meeting Gramps

I've decided to separate my Saturday night into a few different posts, organizing them by stages.

My weekend was one that I'll never forget but also one that I have a hard time remembering. I never knew that could be so classy/trashy in the same night. The fact that I used the word "classy" probably means that I'm not, but whatever.

Most people probably wouldn't give the details that I'm about to. But, this is a cathartic (braggative, really) release for me. It'll be something for me to look back upon as a warning.

Before the night even started, I had a problem. I didn't know what to wear. Everything was either too cleavagey or not booblicious enough. I ended up wearing a new dress that was very, very cleavagey, so I classed it up with a cami underneath and some leggings. 

After getting dressed, the night started out innocently enough. Ameena turned 23 so we had to celebrate. We started off by having dinner and drinks at an upscale lounge. It was very pleasant. I had the lobster mac & cheese and 2 ameretto sours. I was tipsy and loving it.

Afterwards, us girls (me, Ameena, Courtney and Kelly) decided to hit On The Rocks, a bar that has cheap drinks. I did learn, however, that cheap drinks add up fast. 

Anyway, once there, we walked in and who do I make eye-contact with? This old man who was about 78. He was drunk. He was looking my way. I exhaled deeply and tried to come up with a way to deal with this situation. I said "Hey, man, it's this girl's 23rd birthday," and pointed at Ameena. She didn't like the way I tried to deflect the situation. I can't say I blame her. 

She and the girls stayed their distance from the old man. I, however, surveyed the situation and noticed that he was the only thing between me and my Appletini. Potential awkwardness be damned, I needed my alcohol.

I strut up to the bar. The old man and I begin to chat. He's drinking bourbon and Coke or something, i can respect it. He was wearing one Mardi Gras bead. Thankfully the barkeep was a quick shaker and handed me my drink in no time. He told me I was pretty and that the bar had nice martini specials. He muttered a bunch of old man sayings that I couldn't understand.

I slinked away to a nearby table, only to chuckle about the incident....

More to come.

Tequila>Me

I learned a lot about myself last night. 

Catherine and I met up with Nathan and a bunch of his psych/AT&T buddies for margaritas at a Mexican joint. I don't drink tequila, so while everyone else was drinking the biggest size available, I got the smallest. It tasted bad. Yuck. But after I was almost finished with my first one it began to taste like Hawaiian Punch. So I ordered another. and another.

Catherine and I were fairly toasted. I'd never seen her as blitzed as she was. It was wonderful. We laughed, we were charming. Actually, we were the drunk girls who didn't really talk with anyone else, but I don't hate it.

I think I drank to compensate. I don't if it was the people or the setting or me, but for some reason, I just didn't really click with anyone at the restaurant. So I decided that since I had to be there (catherine and i carpooled) I would drink it up.

After getting sufficiently wasted, we decided to go to Trops, a daiquiri-like bar. I really didn't need one, but i wanted one. I got a medium Sweet Tart. It was delicious. But it really, really tipped me over the perhaps-cute phase into the over-the-top-condescending-flirty-phase.

I chatted up this dude who said he came to America in 1980, which means he's considerably older than me. i don't care. I laughed at people. I announced that I wanted to make-out to I don't know who. I remember getting on my knees at one point.

Catherine took me home shortly thereafter. Then i sent embarrassing texts to people, but I don't have the balls to look through my phone to see who received them. Then I woke up in the morning very sick and actually puked. I don't do that. That's not me. Damn tequila. 

I learned that vodka will always be my drink of fun. He's never led me wrong. He doesn't make me sick and he makes me happy. It's a relaxing drink.

Tequila makes me wild. It really does repel my clothes. Then it makes me sick. In certain situations tequila will be necessary, but not on an average night.

I'm going to a comedy club tonight and will probably repeat my actions, but intensify them, because I actually know everyone I'm going with. There's also a dance floor. Oh my.

Total Freak

I'm obsessed with "Freaks and Geeks." I can't get enough of it. Jason Segel is my hero. James Franco is sexy. Even the creepy cute geeks are wonderful. Where were these people when I was in high school? Mix in Jason and James and sprinkle in a little John Daly (Sam) and you've got my dream guy. All of our names begin with a J, so I think we really do deserve to have a polygamous relationship. I've always wanted to go Mormon.

On another note, I'm working on 4 stories for Vox. The longer of the bunch involves me watching a lot of TV, which is nice.  Freaks and Geeks, though, is extra-curricular, unless you can think of a show that is a copy-cat (or who it copied)- if so, let me know.

Apparent Bloodlust

Today was my second City Desk shift at the paper. That means that I sit around, answer phones, visit my daily sites, fantasize, and write obits. Fortunately I only had to write one obit today and I didn't have to call any of the family for quotes, which we usually do. I'm always afraid they're going to cry or something. Though last time the lady talked my ear off about her friend that had died. I wanted to just be like "i get it, she was cool, let it go." Maybe I'm insensitive.

The other desk that I'll work in a couple weeks is the Breaking News desk. That's where you sit and listen to the police scanner, praying that nothing happens so that you don't have to do anything. That's probably just the attitude of me and the other magazine workers.

Anyway, it was almost 3, the end of my shift, when a car accident came over the speaker. Sewell, the ACE (he's a person who's been where we are before and is paid to help us, like a TA, I guess) looked around and asked if anyone with a car could go cover it. The girl who was working the Breaking News desk magically disappeared. The girl that was also working the City Desk had an interview at 3. I didn't have anything until 4. So reluctantly I said "me Sewell, I'll do it."

He was happy that I took it. He ran to get me a fancy camera and a shiny yellow vest I should wear to maneuver around traffic. He instructed me to go to the scene, talk to the cops, maybe the victims and to take pictures.

I was very nervous. This isn't for me- I write fluff pieces! I don't do wrecks. But, as I was nearing my car, it hit me that I had a camera. When I think of wreck photos, i think of screaming people covered in blood; bodies under sheets; tears falling from eyes; people on their knees praying.

This all excited me. The worse I imagined the wreck, the happier I got. It would be front page. I'd get excellent quotes, much like the NY Post did when a limo carrying a wedding party got in an accident. At the end of this post, after some asterisks, I'll post some of the quotes from the story. It's a horribly depressing story, though. A 7 yr old girl was decapitated in the accident, and it's about her mom's discovery of it.

Anyway, i didn't actually want a child to be dead, but I thought the bigger the accident the better- I get more space in the paper for my word. And then I realized how horrible that was. It was sick that I got excited about covering an accident.

So I get to the intersection and.... nothing is there. No backed-up traffic. No cops. No ambulances. Nothing. I drove around the interstate searching and found nothing. False alarm, I guess. It's probably for the best. Plus, I would've missed my 4:00 meeting had there actually been a serious accident.

I ran into Nancy, an awesome lady, and told her the story (or lack-there-of) and she said it was obvious that my dad is an under-taker. She said he gave me my lust for blood. It's hardly bloodlust, but maybe seeing a lot of dead bodies, and caskets, and walking in the freezer did desensitize me.

*****************************************

I was going to post the quotes, but I can't, they're too bad (the mom describes holding her daughter's head in one article). I couldn't find that one, but I could find a similar one. It really does make you hate drunk drivers.

http://www.cafemom.com/journals/read.php?post_id=208318

Stubborness

It's been a very good weekend. Catherine and Nathan and I hung out last night. It was pretty fun. Of course Nathan and I fought, we always bicker. He claims to "see right through me" and thinks that I am "very predictable". This is so not so. At one point, before meeting up with Catherine, he demanded that I get in his car so we could go to the restaurant. I thought that was a dumb idea- getting there 40 mins early is not my idea of fun- so I told him as much. He said I'd be stuck at his house if I didn't leave with him right away. I told him I doubted that very much.

He left. I figured he was just loitering in the front lawn, waiting for me to come out so he could gloat. I was having none of that. Instead, I stayed on the sofa and chatted with Chris, his roommate. It was a nice little time. I was surprise that Nathan hadn't given up and come back inside, but I assumed he was trying to be a "man" or a "boss" or something. Or he was trying to make me get over my pride, as he always does.

At this point, Catherine called and said she'd be at Addison's in like 30 mins, so I went outside to tell Nathan. His car was gone. I was surprised, so I giggled to myself. I decided to give in and call him. He screened my call! So I called again, and the same thing happened. As he had picked my up from my place, i didn't have my car. There was no way I was going to sit and wait for him to return, just to have him feel like a winner, so I decided to walk home.

It was a nice night and I don't live too far away (though I did have to cross a scary street, which I handled like a champ). During my walk, Nathan called. I gave him the same treatment and screened it. Then he texted saying "I hope Catherine's picking you up, cuz I'm not getting you." So I texted back "Actually, I'm walking home. Bet you didn't expect that." I felt smug. He wrote back "Just walk to Addison's." I didn't like his apathetic response, so I sent "Nope. We changed locations." and he said "why?" which was what I wanted. "Because you're a douchebag."

After that, I felt a little better, but I thought maybe it sounded emotional, which was not what I wanted. But I kept walking until I came to an intersection that I had to turn on. As I approached it, I saw this creeper with a beard leering at me. I felt super uncomfortable. I'm sure I started muttering to myself. And then I heard "Jess, what are you doing?" And then I realized it was Nathan (he doesn't have a beard, so I guess it was just shadows). He had come back for me, so all was right in the world. I hopped in the car. He denies having screened me, he said his 3G was out. Maybe, maybe not.

After that we had a blast. Nathan left after Addison's, but Catherine and I walked around downtown and chatted. It was wonderful. I learned stuff about her and she about me. I'd sort of forgotten that candid girl talk is fun. I also learned how much I love to hear my own voice. I'm working on my listening skills.

The Land of the Lost

I reviewed this film for the magazine I write for. Check it out!

http://www.voxmagazine.com/stories/2009/06/06/movie-review-land-lost/

It's not as long as I'd like it to be, but it's all good.

I was so embarrassed when I bought the ticket. It looked like the dumbest movie ever. I'd stopped liking Will Ferrell a while ago, so I thought it was going to be a huge suckfest. As it turned out, it was actually pretty funny. Everyone has given it terrible reviews and I just don't get that.

I'm kind of a rock star.

Last night was amazing. So I texted Alex yesterday because we've been meaning to hangout, but we never do. Thankfully she had no plans, so I suggested that we hit up Eastside for a round of kareoke. Would I be doing kareoke? Not without copious amounts alcohol. But I decided it would be fun to watch the people with balls show off their chops.

So I met Alex, her bf Nick, and this guy he's known since kindergarten, Shannon. Incidentally, I learned that their kindergarten was only half a day- either in the morning or afternoon. No fair! We wrote paragraphs all day.

Anyway, we all meet up at the bar and order our drinks. I only had my debit card and they had a $10 minimum with cards. I handed mine over right away, and in return got an Amerretto Sour. It tasted different then I'm used to, and that's when I realized he'd (the bartender) used a cherry syrup instead of putting a cherry in it. Which was fine as I don't like cherries.

We grabbed a table and got to know each other better. I downed my drink and got another one. I came back, we chatted some more. I looked at the people on stage and knew I had to be one. I had to sing. As I was very tipsy, I wasn't gone enough to sing and I also hadn't spent my $10 yet. So I went back to the bar and the guy was like "another one?" and I was like, "ya know what? I'ma branch out. Can you give me something appley? I like Appletinis." He looked at me like I was a challenge and I loved that. He pursed his lips and said "I'll give you something that I invented, I call it 'Hulk Smashed'. I'll even put it in a martini glass to make you feel fancy, just don't break it. You'll love it." "if it's got alcohol I'm sure I will." 

After a lot of mixing, he presented me with a huge green drink. He said "I call it Hulk Smashed because it's green and it's all alcohol- no mixer." I sighed a big sigh of gratitude- this man must have been me in a past-life. He knew that I don't play around.

I took the drink to my table and loved it. It did the trick enough to make me grab a song book. That's right, I signed myself up for Kareoke. The boys were playing pool at this point, but Alex was with me and flat-out refused to sing with me. She did, however, help me pick the song I was to sing (which was really a paltry consolation prize). We debated between Shania Twain, Shaggy, Gavin Degraw and Kelly Clarkson. 

Ms. Clarkson won. Before I could second guess myself, I submitted my form with "Since You've Been Gone" on the top. After that was done, Alex and I found the boys and challenged them to a game of pool. It was neck and neck until the end. Only the cue ball and 8 ball were on the table. It was my (or Alex's, I don't remember) turn, I was about to win when the dude called my name!

I shrieked "that's me" and ran to the stage. He said "This is the first time in the 3 years we've been doing this that someone has performed Kelly Clarkson." I felt very proud of this. Oddly enough, when I went on stage, my nerves were gone. I wasn't afraid anymore. Alex and the gang made their way to the front to cheer me on. I rocked like I have never rocked before. But I wasn't the only one rocking! Everyone in the bar was singing with me! It was very amazing, one of the proudest moments of my life.

After taking a bow and doing some high-fives, I left the stage to find that not only had I conquered my singing fear but we had also won the pool game! Shannon had called the wrong pocket, so it was a win, but sort of by default.

They went out to smoke and I went to get my purse. As I was walking to the back of the bar, this 40 year old (at least) Mexican dude motioned for me to come sit by him. I giggled, wished I had a pocket-knife to threaten him with, and told him I couldn't, I had to get my purse. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time.

After grabbing my bag, I made the mistake of getting too close to him. He reached out and grabbed my hand- he had a firm grip too! I was like 'oh shit, what the fuck? My boobs aren't even out at all.'

I giggled and said I had to meet my friends who had left. I tried to take my hand back, but he squeezed harder and said "I Love You." I was like omg, really dude? You could have birthed me. "You don't know me." "I Love You." I yanked my arm away like it was about to be cut off by a train.

After I closed my tab and met up with my crew, I found that he had squeezed Alex's ass earlier. I felt a little less special. Oh well. Then we went to El Rancho and then back to my place. 

It was a successful evening, to say the least.

I Snapped

Ever since I decided that it was a good idea to open my kitchen door a few days ago, this monster fly escaped into my living area. He watched me. He followed me around. He hovered and stared. He'd become a friend, an annoyance, an enemy and a creep.

I hated him for being there, as he's a dirty fly. But I realized he couldn't help he was hatched a dirty fly. For a few moments I saw his beauty and loved him. But then I came down and realized that ew, I cannot have him laying little eggs in me while I sleep.

So I decided to hunt him today. I saw that he was sitting in my shower (his reflexes have gotten slower and slower as he has become domesticated). I picked up the cup I use for shaving and I said "stay still little buddy, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to relocate you to a beautiful home." I meant it too. I'd let him loose in the hallway.

I lunged, the little guy barely escaped me. I charged after him, saying that if he just shut up and sat still I wouldn't hurt him. That's when he landed on my blinds. I'd just promised not to hurt him, but when I saw him still and vulnerable on the window (for whatever reason flies can't fly properly when on a window) I just snapped. I lunged at him with the cup and I lunged hard. I got him with the bottom of it. That's right, I didn't even try to save him with the mouth of the cup. He splattered and didn't have a chance.

I don't know what happened. When he had the advantage, I begged. When I had the advantage, I exploited it for my own good. That's how I tend to act in all my life's scenarios (minus the obvious begging). That fly taught me a lot about myself and for that I'll always be thankful.

I'll miss the little guy... maybe I shouldn't be living alone.

Life

Everything had lined up the way it supposed to. Finally my source's assistant got back to me last night and we scheduled an interview for today at 2:00. I was happy, as my deadline was at 5, I knew I would make it. At about 12:30 I left the newsroom to go eat lunch and prep myself. I practically frolicked home.

Then, when I reached the third landing in my building, something wasn't right. I didn't know what it was but something felt off. Then, all of a sudden, this bird swooped out of a hole in the ceiling and headed right towards me. I shrieked and cowered. I literally hit the floor. The bird went back to his roost. I said "good little bastard, I won't hurt you." So I walked hunched over to my door, but after only a few steps the thing swooped again! This time I screamed, panicked, and ran to my door. I unlocked it and got inside safely. It's a wonder no one came when I screamed.

I felt better when i got inside. I set up my notepad and heated up a turkey-leg for lunch. I put on some Sister, Sister and got to business watching it. Then, all of a sudden, the screen went snowy! I was like WTF is going on here? Then I remembered that in mid-May I'd cancelled my cable. Those bastards finally caught up with me.

I guess I had it coming. So I decided to go online, the soon learned that I couldn't, as I'd left my charger in the newsroom. Goddamnit. Well, thankfully I've still got Ameena's Arrested Development, so I popped that baby in and watched it. 

Then, right at 2, my phone rang. Excitedly I answered it, only to find it was my lady's assistant. The person I'm supposed to talk with has laryngitis and can't speak! And the only time she can reschedule for is next Thursday. I was thinking "well isn't this just great?"

So I rushed to the newsroom to explain my dilemma to the head editor. He said it was ok, I'd just reschedule it for then. Luckily in the magazine world we get our assignments early.

So I broke down and ordered Netflix. Gilmore Girls season 7 is on the top of my queue. The bird still waits for me. I don't know how I'll fair (fare?).

Random thought on child pornagraphy

Let's say you're real kinky and you started out young. Let's say you're 14 and you get it on with your sig fig. You want to be a grown-up, so you whip out your parents' tripod and JVC camera to film it. You have fun doing your thing. Afterwards, you hide the little video in a box labeled "Math Stuff". You forget about it and move on with your life.

Years later you move back into your parents' house because life didn't pan out as you thought it would. You're laying in bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark constellations on your ceiling, remembering "the good old days" which, in fact, sucked. You decide to look for your old Stretch Armstrong. While you're rummaging through your closet, a box tips over and out spills your old VHS tape. 

Ah, this is interesting. Should I watch it? Sure, why not? You pop that sucker in and watch the 20 second tape from long ago. Then you repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Is this legal? You're in the video, so I'd think yes. But so is another child, so I'd think no. 

I know you can't own child porn under any circumstance (a famed journalist learned that the hard way. He was watching it as "inspiration" for the story he was writing).

I also know that it is illegal for a kid to take a naked photo of herself and send it to her boyfriend. The law is cracking down on that. 

So I'd have to assume that it would be illegal to have this tape. But what if, in this person's time, it wasn't illegal for them to film it? I don't think the law can  go back in time.

Either way, it's probably more than a little creepy to be thinking about this.

 http://www.voxmagazine.com/stories/2009/05/14/unprotected-tween-sexting/

Got blonde curls? I can overlook that for the evening.

I love Columbia nightlife. It's pretty great.

Thursday night Ameena, Ben, Anthony, Kelly, Courtney and I hit up the Tin Can, which is a neat bar that sells beer for 75 cents. Surprisingly it's not a trashy bar (you can even use the beer pong table they have). It was pretty great. Of course, I didn't participate in the cheap beer. I drank Ameretto Sours all night, baby. It was fun just chillin.

After a while, we decided to go to East Side Tavern to say goodbye to one of Ameena's friends. It was a very artsy bar. All the dudes were either white, pale, thin with black hair and  glasses. Or else they were white, large and had beards. The females all dressed crazy with minimal cleavage. Anyway, this night was kareoke night. I have never heard so many bad covers of Radiohead in my life. It was pretty terrible. The music anyway, not the scene. I really wanted to sing Goldigger, but I wasn't drunk enough. I also wasn't feeling brave enough to sing the word "nigger" to the whole bar, and it's in the song a lot. Another night perhaps. 

Friday night we went to a dance party on the top of an artsy theatre! It was amazing. It was a videology night, which means they played videos to go with the music. They played a lot of classics, but they also played "Sorry Mrs. Jackson", "Jizz in My Pants", "I'm on a Boat" and many more. There was a fog machine. I drank vodka Sprite while on the roof across from a church. It was fantastic.

Again, this was filled with hipsters everywhere. There were a lot of "creepers" around. I quoted that word because it's subjective. Did I find it creepy when a middle-aged woman joined our dancing clique, made us hold hands and shimmy to Madonna? Did I find it creepy when she leaned over and licked/kissed Ameena's cheek and asked her if she liked it? Nope. I thought it was a roaring good time.

Did I find it creepy when this blonde, curly haired dude lurked behind me in an uncomfortably close fashion? Did I find it creepy when he looked in my eyes and mimicked my dance moves? Nope. I found him to be enticing- despite being both blonde, curly and probably bi-curious. Sadly, all my ladies came to my "rescue" and cock-blocked me. It was probably right for them to do so, but there's nothing like a morning of shame to spice up your life.

Saturday I had to rest. We had an "Always Sunny in Philadelphia" marathon- I love that show! I found out that Anthony makes Mead which was kind of neat. 

Overall, the social aspect of my life is looking good.