A Not-So-Super Power

A little conversation with a friend/fellow blogger last night sparked a realization that we share a pretty sweet superpower. I mean, this ability actually allows us to make things happen….with our minds.

More people possess this power than some may think. Your mother, brother, sister, alcoholic uncle, hell – maybe even YOU!

That’s right boys and girls, no cape or pair of tights needed for this one! I can do this with my eyes closed! In my pajamas! At work! While drinkin’ a beer! In the shower! While crying into a tub of froyo!

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s…

 

 

 

Not what you were expecting, eh? Well not every superpower is so glamorous, ya know.

Suffering from anxiety makes me feel a little crazy, but then I take a deep breath and remember I’m not the only one who thinks that ringing in her ears is every single person she knows saying something bad about her. I’ve even tried that whole “relax, stop giving a sh*t” thing, but yeah, that doesn’t work.

When I began dating my (now) husband, I was head over heels from the start. He was intelligent, hilarious, a very fine musician, and a bonus, extremely good-looking. But I wanted to, uh, “keep my cool”. Not seem clingy, ya know? I wanted to look all cool and stuff. If only he could have seen me tearing my own thumbs away from my phone’s keyboard, I wouldn’t have looked all cute and mysterious. Having a pep talk with yourself while in your pajamas – and probably watching a Lifetime movie – doesn’t file under either “cute” nor “mysterious” in my book. I wanted so badly to see him, all the time, but knew if he felt the same he’d contact me. And he always did. (And no, I don’t mean to say the man should do all of the work – in this scenario, he worked nights as a bartender, so I avoided “bothering” him while at work. But that’s another issue for another post!)

Anyway, my friend Sarah and I spent a lot of time together during the entire courting stage, and I have to thank her for not bashing her head against a wall for all the times she listened to my lavish stories.

Me: “I texted Joe, and he hasn’t texted me back yet. It’s been like, two hours.”

Sarah: “Dude, maybe he’s sleeping. Maybe he’s at work. Maybe he’s watching a movie.”

Me: “No, no he must have met someone else. His house must be on fire and he’s locked inside. Should we go save him? Maybe he left the country. His car must be broken down in a remote area with no cell service. Maybe his phone died. Someone stole his phone! OH GOD HE WAS ROBBED AND MURDERED!”

Sarah: “I really dislike you sometimes.”

Good thing I already roped him into marrying me. Love you, Joe. 🙂

On a podcast over at Peter DeWolf, Peter and ChowderHead discuss women, and expressing emotions; along the way something is mentioned about being the “writerly” type and the advantages and disadvantages that brings to the table in a relationship. For me, being a writer suffering from anxiety is like being that bull in that china shop. Every single thing I look at and listen to becomes a story in my head, ranging anywhere from mild to downright insane. Good material, I guess. ::sigh::

I wish the inside of my head looked as cool as my man Poe’s.

 

But like I said before: I have the ability to put this power to use any time, any where. Like that time we flew to Disneyworld and I sipped away on my Jack & Diet while in my mind the plane malfunctioned and nosedived into the ocean and Joe and I said our romantic goodbyes and everyone attended my funeral, even that girl I hate, any my mom said something really nice, and everyone cried, then they buried me WHEN I SPECIFICALLY SAID I WANTED TO BE CREMATED. Ahem.

Some days I’ll be on an elevator at work and picture my entire day coming to a halt because I’m stuck for hours on the damn thing. I even consider how bad it would suck, depending on the temperature in there.

Some nights I’m on the train or walking to my car and I keep my phone at the ready in case I’m mugged or an attempted rape occurs. But that’s because these things really happen, because the world sucks sometimes, and it’s a good thing to be alert in these situations.

So would anyone else like to reveal themselves? Don’t be shy. We’re just extra special.

 

 

Daily Prompt: How’d You Get In?!

It may be from yesterday, but who cares. Here’s another Daily Prompt!

On the interview show Inside the Actors’ Studio, host James Lipton asks each of his guests the same ten questions. What are your responses?

• What is your favorite word?

I’m honestly not sure, but I tend to say “delightful” a lot. So, let’s go with that.

• What is your least favorite word?

Moist. “Mmm, this cake is so MOIST!” This word should be reserved for rapists and porn stars.

• What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

The unexpected, the macabre, something that brings me to tears. I want to feel what I am reading.

• What turns you off?

Contradiction, misspelled words. Misspelled words, especially in a book I just spent money on, make me sad.

• What is your favorite curse word?

Fuck fuckity fuck! There I said it.

• What sound or noise do you love?

A train, at night, in the distance. Never fails to comfort me, and make me a little sad at the same time. It’s a strange feeling, but I love it.

• What sound or noise do you hate?

A bristle brush against fabric. It makes my teeth ache. Strange, I know.

• What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Forensics. But Science was never my strong point.

• What profession would you not like to do?

Math teacher. The devil invented Math.

• If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

FUCK! How’d you get in?! Ah well, let’s party.

 

Ceiling Fans Are Not Your Friend

I have a ceiling fan phobia. Last night – during our random 82 degree Spring day before it returns to 60-something tomorrow – I crawled into bed early for yet another morning shift (work and running are the two major reasons I’ve been MIA lately…I’m just a lump of nothin’ otherwise). It was that suffocating sort of hot in our bedroom, Joe refused to turn on the air just yet, so I opened every window upstairs and lay down with one leg out, one leg under the sheet (you know you do it too!). I tossed, I turned, I somersaulted, I couldn’t get any kind of comfortable.

Just as I was about to give up and jump into a cold shower with pillow in hand, I looked up, the sweat leaking into my eyes blurring the view to the ceiling fan I’d forgotten about. There’s one in almost every room of the house, and we haven’t made use of one yet. I was hoping a thick layer of dust wouldn’t fly from each blade and rain down on me in a fluffy gray snowfall….but I was even more concerned about one thing:

I’m convinced ceiling fans are out to get me. I thought this one in particular would be whipped from the ceiling and come flying down onto my head, chopping off various body parts and ruining my bedspread. And I was just too tired to have to stitch myself back together. But – the heat getting the better of me – I decided to suck it up and pull the cord, bringing the fan to a slow hum as it turned and turned.

There wasn’t any gray snowfall; that was nice. It wasn’t making much noise…a good sign. But I still couldn’t help climbing out of bed just hours before I had to be up for work to turn the light on then off then on again, staring at the blades to see if they were shaking. I lay back down, blankets off, still staring at the ceiling…into the face of my impending death.

I got up again and pulled the cord a few more times, bringing the fan to a halt.

I wandered into the other room, found the standup fan, and plugged it in. Ahh, relief.

I told the best friend about this phobia today, as we sit in the currently stuffy living room, eating lunch. She laughed at me, of course, but I tried to explain the serious danger of an improperly working ceiling fan! A wasp flew by the window and I closed it, deciding to test out the dining room ceiling fan, which was directly above where she sat.

I pulled the cord once and the fan immediately began to rattle and shake, trying its best to free itself of the wires and bolts that held it secure!

“SEE!” I shouted while she laughed, looking terrified. “SEE! THIS IS WHY I’M AFRAID OF CEILING FANS!” Seriously. My day will come. I feel it.

Daily Prompt: What A Waste!

Write your own eulogy.

We’re gathered here today to remember a daughter, a friend, a fiance, a writer, a runner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole Marie may have spent too much time taking meaningless pictures of herself, or hitting the bottle, but we won’t remember her simply for her narcissism or her alcoholism; no, Nicole Marie will also be remembered, not always fondly, for her love of serial killers, video games, and procrastination.

When she set a goal for herself, Nicole Marie (usually) followed through. She began work on her first novel years ago, and after several struggles to stay motivated was very close to a finished manuscript. It’s really too bad she croaked before delivering it to the agent lady. I guess it just wasn’t in the cards for her. But at least she managed to get her name out there one time before leaving us forever.

Nicole Marie also had plans to run her first full marathon, a huge fitness goal she’d been looking forward to after years of struggling with body image. This was it, this was the goal of all goals, a mental and physical challenge she couldn’t wait to rip to shreds. She was only two weeks into training when it happened. Ah, well.

Her blog had finally started to gain speed, thanks to a mysterious clown and his blogging superpowers; she was so excited, so honored to be making so many amazing blogging friends (she’d even gained a second mom and dad), and spent most of her days sharing her blogging excitement with her wonderful fiance, Joe AKA Charlie. But now her blog will stand still for the rest of eternity – unless she is bad ass enough to figure out how to post from the other side. In which case, I’m sure she will take several dumb pictures of herself drinking good beer in a hot tub. And we all wanna see that.

Our thoughts are with her friends and family, who have lost one of the greatest human beings ever to grace this earth. It’s too bad she didn’t get off her ass and accomplish more during her short time with us. She could have been something truly great. Her fiance, Joe, is especially sad, since she will no longer be there to obsessively vacuum the dog’s hair off of the couch.

Her will was simple: Don’t bother donating my liver. It’s no good. But have someone skin me for my tattoos and use them as artwork above their fireplace. That’d be awesome. Oh, and question the creepy neighbor about my death. He knows. See ya!

Rest easy, Nicole Marie. We hope you’re drinking that big Paisano in the sky (or, you know…down there).

Remember me as a time of day. Happy hour. 

Other freshly departed:

http://mairedubhtx.wordpress.com/2013/01/25/daily-prompt-dearly-departed/

http://stuphblog.wordpress.com/2013/01/25/daily-prompt-dearly-departed/

http://lyricalanarchy.wordpress.com/2013/01/25/autoeulogy-of-hotspur-a-daily-prompt-post/#comment-1220

http://hastywords.wordpress.com/2013/01/25/just-someone-once/

http://cherispeak.wordpress.com/2013/01/25/chat-in-the-box/

I’ll link to more as they filter in! 

And of course, don’t forget to enjoy the Friday Foolishness:

http://guapola.wordpress.com/2013/01/25/friday-foolishness-runners-edition/

Feel the Love

Just a giggle….a nice follow up to this lovely post.

Joe has a cold. I’m up here, creepin’ on my favorite blogs. He makes some beautiful hacking noise from downstairs.

Joe: ::hack, spit, hack:: Sorry!

Me: For what? Get it out!

Joe: It just sounds digusting.

Me: When I give birth some day, I might poop myself. And you’ll be there to witness it.

 

Love. ❤

Liebster Blog Award

A very warm thank you to gemini for awarding me the Liebster Blog Award! It’s an honor. Thank you for reading (and enjoying) my blog!

Please check out her poetry; it’s a lot of sexy, and a lot of awesome.

So here are the rules, as copied and pasted via gemini:

1. Each person must post 11 things about themselves.
2. Answer the questions that the tagger set for you plus create 11 questions for the people you’ve tagged to answer.
3. Choose 11 people and link them in your post.
4. Go to their page and tell them.
5. No tag backs!

Alright, here goes nothin’.

11 Things About Lil Ol’ Me: 

1.) I become instantly terrified if Joe (or anyone) shuts the basement door while I’m down there. We don’t even have one of those creepy, damp basements.

2.) I wear an insane amount of SPF in the summer time. I fully enjoy being pale 365 days a year.

3.) At one point in my life, I had somewhere around 19 piercings. (No, nothing below the belt, now get your whole self out of the gutter.)

4.) All of my Early Morning Musings  are written via my iPhone, at work, between the hours of 5 AM and 7 AM. This has become the best way to occupy myself before the morning rush.

5.) For those who didn’t already know – I tend bar in an airport, waiting on the most interesting of human specimens.

6.) I have a huge obsession with serial killers and all things related. I’m not a creep!

7.) While I work in an airport, I’ve only flown twice. A little ironic?

8.) My favorite high school memory: playing Rizzo in our drama club’s production of Grease.

9.) I quit smoking about 4 months ago and haven’t touched a cigarette since.

10.) I currently have 8 tattoos and am planning my 9th.

11.) I am working on my first novel – I’ve been slacking, but I’m still doing it – and hopefully one day I’ll see it on a shelf or in e-book form. Whatever. I just want it out there.

 

Alright, on to step two! Answering my questions:

What is your guilty pleasure?

More like who – I’ve always said Bruce Campbell via Evil Dead II is my guilty pleasure. Ash is such a bad-ass. Why guilty pleasure? Because none of my other friends ever seemed to agree.

Who is your favorite author?

That’s a tough one, but I’d have to say Alice Sebold. Ever since The Lovely Bones her take on life and death has just amazed me. She’s been my writing role model ever since.

What would be your perfect first date?

Pretty typical. Dinner, drinks, great conversation, laughter. I’ve already shared (and continue to share) all of those with my love.

Sweet or savory?

Why not both?

Where would you rather be right now in the world?

At the animal shelter finally taking our doggie home. We get to pick her up this Wednesday. ❤

What is your pet hate?

My pet hate? How about my cat throwing up on our area rug.

What are you most talented at?

Hmm….I’d have to say I’m fairly good at reading people. I pay special attention to the words people use, or how they say certain things. The tone of their voice. Their facial expressions, the way they dress, the way they shake my hand. I’d say most writers do this. But paying such close attention has helped me let my girlfriends know when they’re dealing with an asshole.

If you were a cocktail, what would you be called?

I wasn’t sure about this one so I crawled into bed with Joe and asked. He said: “Dumb Ass”. We’ll go with that.

What is your most treasured possession?

Aside from my engagement ring, my Sarah McLachlan lithograph of her Mirror Ball album, autographed. Like, a real autograph. My parents gave me this for Christmas when I was 15, and I balled my eyes out. Best. Present. Ever.

What is your favorite movie?

Another difficult one. I have several. But all time favorite: The Nightmare Before Christmas. I love everything Tim Burton.

Have you ever taken anything that wasn’t yours and if so what?

I stole some candy from a local store when I was little. Really, I don’t steal! I’m boring, right?

Does Joe’s heart count? Tee-hee.

 

And here’s my 11 questions for those fabulous bloggers I’ll be linking at the bottom of this post: 

1.) What is your favorite memory ever?

2.) What’s one embarrassing thing you did as a child that your parents caught on video and still like to show to all of their friends – and yours?

3.) What was your first job?

4.) What’s your favorite drink (alcoholic or non)?

5.) Do you think I’m awesome?

6.) What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re not blogging/Twittering/social networking?

7.) What color are your bed sheets?

8.) What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done for love? (This could be any variety of love!)

9.) What’s your favorite book?

10.) What’s the strangest dream you’ve ever had?

11.) Do you have a tattoo you regret? If so, what is it? Where on your body is it located?

::drum roll:: 

And the award goes to….

Edward Hotspur

Mike Calahan

Running On Sober

Twindaddy

The Hook

Brain Tomahawk

Guapowitz

GingerSnaap

Chatter Master

Cheeky Diva

Mairedubhtx

Again, another thank you to gemini. Now go show her (and these other fine folk) some love. Spread it, people!

Happy Sunday!

 

 

“You’re an ass!” – Terms of Endearment

I really might buy this for Joe. He loves Spider Man AND calling me an ass!

Don’t get me wrong – this post is filled to the brim with butterflies and hearts and mushy things. Every couple has those sweet little things they whisper to each other, those silly nicknames (I lovingly refer to Joe as Charlie. For an explanation, see the video at the bottom of this post. Even though you may leave more confused.), you know, all that cutesy shit!

Joe and I like to spread our love all over each other by constant torturing. No, not the fun kind (if you’re freaky and consider that fun….) Here, I offer an example. This has been going on all morning.

::I’m downstairs creepin’ on blogs, Joe is upstairs paying bills and doing important things::

::I yell up the stairs:: “I’M HUUUUNNNGGRRRYYYYYY!!!!”

::Joe yells down the stairs:: “Can you wait five minutes? I know you’re starving to death, but I’m doing things that need to be done.”

::I come up the stairs and dramatically lay on the floor in the hallway:: “Oh I forgot, I’m the lazy one! Sorry I can’t go 8 hours with nothing but an air sandwich for lunch.”

::Ignores me:: “I’m paying bills!”

::I get up and stick my face right in his face, blocking the computer screen with my big noggin, kissing him all over his face::

::Joe laughs:: “GET OUT OF MY FACE, YOU ASS!”

::I laugh, too:: “YOU’RE THE ASS!

Joe: “No, YOU are the ASS.”

This went on for quite a while until I slinked back downstairs to eat a piece of cheese, still whining about breakfast and how I always make him dinner and waaaahhhhhh.

– A few minutes later –

::Joe appears downstairs::

::Looks in my cup::

“What’s that?”

Me: “It’s orange juice, ass. No, I’m sorry, it’s VODKA.”

Joe: “Wouldn’t be surprised!”

::I shoot him an evil look::

::He cackles:: (I really need to post a recording of this man’s laugh. It’s contagious, seriously.)

::Creeps in the fridge::

“What’d you buy a whole head of lettuce for?”

Me: “FOR US TO EAT, YOU ASS!”

::I start writing this post, I tell him I found a button I should buy him::

Joe: “What’s it say? ‘I live with an ass’?”

– A few more minutes later – (This literally just happened and I had to throw it in.)

::Joe goes upstairs, into the bathroom::

“What is this coffee ring on the bathroom sink?”

Me: “What are you talking about? The cat did it!” ::giggles::

Joe: “ASS, were you drinking your coffee while takin’ a poop?”

Me: “NO!” (Really, I wasn’t. I swear!)

Joe: “You’re dirty.”

All love, baby. I’m sorry if you don’t find this as hilarious as I do.

Ah, well. Here’s a funny video to make up for it.

Also, a huge thank you to the infamous Edward Hotspur for bestowing me with the Very Inspiring Blogger Award. Follow him, he’s the bee’s knees. (Also, go tell this guy he’s the bee’s knee. He loves that.)

And don’t forget to catch up on this week’s edition of Friday Foolishness!

Have a superb weekend, everyone!

And for the record, I’m just now smelling bacon in the kitchen. What an ass. ❤

 

How do you make a tissue dance?

Come ooooooon. I know you know. I also know you still pick your nose, when you’re alone (or you think you’re alone, AKA in your car where everyone can still see through the windows yet you think you’re under some sort of invisibility cloak), trying to reach that stubborn one that just can’t be removed the socially acceptable way, blown from your snout directly into a tissue that is then balled up and shoved into the pocket of your khakis.

As I sit here, still in my Grinch pajama pants and one of Joe’s green t shirts, my love greeted me with a good morning kiss and then looked me up and down (obviously drinking in my beauty), when suddenly he parted his lips and uttered,

“You’re in all green! You look like a big boogie!”

Thank you, for that (mature) “compliment”.

So after I told him to shut up, I got to thinking about little kids, and how they’ll pick their nose no matter who’s looking; they own that shit, they dig for that buried treasure like it’s nobody’s business, and to them, it isn’t.

“F*ck off man, I’m pickin’ my nose here. Oh, you’re gonna keep lookin’ anyway? Here, I’ll EAT it then. How ya like that?”

Now I can honestly say (from what I remember) I never ate my boogers as a kid. They just never looked appetizing to me. Do children do this for lack of a better place to put them? If you don’t  have a tissue they can be pretty difficult to get rid of. It’s like that little piece of plastic shopping bag that rips off and sticks to your finger, and no matter how violently you wave your hand around in the air, that thing won’t come off. 

My solution as a kid? Wipe it under your seat. I know what you’re thinking, I’m disgusting!

But I like to think I was a genius. Ahead of my time, I think. Under couches. Under the car seat. Hey, at least I had the courtesy to wipe it where no one would notice. If my mother is reading this and never knew, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, you won’t find anything under your current vehicle or couch cushions. Those items I used as my personal giant tissue are long gone.

But hey, nowadays I do it the grown-up way and blow them into a tissue, or wipe them into a tissue if they’re difficult to get at. I even wash my hands after. And I’ll only do this while driving if it’s dark outside. I have manners.

Lessons in Hosting

 

Well, we officially survived the first Christmas in our new home!

I’ve never had to be a hostess before. I’ve only ever wandered from room to room, picking at the pepperoni and cheese and crackers (probably my favorite thing about Christmas – besides the family time and presents and blah blah blah) but this time was totally different! I had to clean and cook and slice the cheese myself and –

Alright, fine, I’ll admit it. Joe put the pork tenderloin in the oven. Joe’s sister brought a cheese and pepperoni platter so we didn’t have to cut any. When we wanted to add some muenster to the mix, my best friend cut some up and threw it on there. I put some crackers on a plate and set out the pre-made Cucumber Garlic dip and drank some wine and opened my presents and drank some more wine and ate some cookies and drank some more wine.

Worst. Hostess. Ever.

But for the record, I cleaned the entire house on Sunday, just in time for my future in-laws to fly in Monday morning to stay with us for a week! I also cleaned up something someone spilled on my kitchen counter.

Mr. Hotspur will appreciate the list of things I received this Christmas!

– A beautiful vanity from Joe, so I’ll stop bitching that I have to sit on the floor like a commoner while putting on my makeup. I scurried downstairs Christmas morning to find it already put together, a big red bow and the Charlie Brown Christmas tree perched on top!!!

– A sweet Everlast punching bag (also from my Joe), so I can take out my work-related aggression at home, in our basement!

– Towels and kitchen things and domesticated adult things from the future in-laws (I feel all grows up!).

– Clothes and more clothes from my ‘rents – all of those things I’m not supposed to be buying myself much anymore!

– Nail polish and a vintage find and other awesomeness from the best friend!

– One twice-stained table runner,

– One wine-stained oven mitt,

– One clogged toilet,

– Ashes on my back porch,

– Crumbs on the counter,

– A cheese-induced post-Christmas tummy ache,

– And a partridge in a pear tree.

All in all, things went very well. Our home is beautiful, my wonderful family is completely nuts, and we all went to bed with full bellies and visions of sugar plums raving in our heads.

Enjoying the lights and sounds of the season until the New Year.

Isn’t my handsome so festive? Best Christmas shirt ever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Friday!

 

Merry Christmas, everyone!

I had something a bit more epic planned for today, but in the hustle and bustle of late Christmas morning, I only have time to extend blessings and giggles to my blogging family. I love you all! Eat, drink and be merry.

Now here’s your giggle!

Merry Christmas ❤