Thursday, April 28, 2011


Woo Hoo!!! Look at me, I'm blogging again.

Weird, I know, but it had to be done.

The break, and the rebirth. Well, not rebirth exactly... more like a bunch of things in my life have been changing, are changing, and therefore shits about to get real.

I've read five books since we last spoke, I tested out of my math credit so I no longer have to take that class, I got lot's of hearts for the bf... all of which are real. I invented a pie recipe, and obviously by invented I mean reinvented because I just made it better, I am starting nursing school on MONDAY!!!

And, through all of that I had no inspiration to write, whatsoever.

And you know what? I ain't got no shame.

Oh, and coolest thing, I (and Merry) have been entered into a karaoke contest by a happy accident where the two of us decided to go singing one lowly Thursday night, and I have the potential to win five hundred dollars, which will all go to my gas tank because gas is up to $4.15 as of my lunch break today.

Fuck you Ohio, fuck you gas....

The sky's are blue, the wind is blowing, and I just cracked my back in about seven spots. Life is good, and I'm not even nervous about starting school, because my schedule is easy and I have lots of study time every day.

Also, summer is almost here, which means lazy days by the pool reading about whatever I can get my hands on.

Hunger Games side note: Oh my gawd, you must read these books as soon as humanly possible. Seriously, it changed me. But be prepared to not know what to do with your life the minute you're done, I'm still wandering around aimlessly bumping into walls.

I'm trying to get a serving job so I can bring in the dollah dollah bills, but right now everyone and their mother are also trying to get a job, so just keep your fingers crossed and hope one of these places calls me back.

I learned how to use liquid eyeliner, and any woman can attest, that stuff is hard to use. But, Merry is an excellent teacher, and I look as cat-eye-tastic as any one girl can look and it's hot (just don't ask Tom, he doesn't like it).

I bought a bandanna for my neck and have decided it's now part of my look. I hate having a naked neck sometimes, and my boobs are just too large to not be a major distraction, but wearing a scarf is too hot... cut to: hanker chief! It solves the over boobalicious problem, keeps my neck warm but not sweaty (yumm) and it makes my head look good by not accentuating the fact that it's smaller than each of my boobs, individually.

I've written eleventy billion essays for scholarships, and I'm hoping that if I can't get a proper job, I'll get a scholarship, because, you know, gas is $4.15 a gallon, and I don't see it being less within my lifetime.

Remind me to sell my children for gas money when the time comes around.

I hope that you can forgive me for my absence, I think that my back-in-school blogging will prove to be as hilarious as it is educational, and for the time being, enjoy the sun and good smelling air. I love the smell of outside, yes I surely do.

Oh, and to send you off right, here is a photo of my nephew I took with my cellular. Doesn't he just melt your heart?

Thursday, April 7, 2011

a spatula bigger than your mom

Have you ever written an essay for a scholarship application to then realize you don't qualify? I read two words: food and blog, I figured since I blog and I am a whore for food I obviously qualified for this scholarship... low and behold I missed the "college hosted" in front of the word "blog" and now have no one to share my funny story with.

But wait! You still exist, my little bloggy readers, so I will share with you.

The essay I will never be able to submit:

American. Pie. American Pie. Pie holds a warm place in Americas hearts be it a sweet apple pie filled to the brim and oozing all over the plate before anyone can even take the first bite, a tart cranberry pie with a cobbler like topping and hardened sugar on top of that making every bite melt in your mouth, or a secret family recipe that is so easy a four year old could make it. In fact, a four year old did make it, and I was that four year old. I won’t get into the specifics, but imagine chocolate mousse, melted peanut butter, a graham cracker crust, and enough whipped topping to support a small girls fancy for at least an hour (provided she’s mighty distracted, I don’t mess around when it comes to whipped topping, I mean she, she doesn’t mess around). It was easy, it was served cold, and it is one of the best pies I’ve ever had.

One day, little four year old me was making the pie; I was short enough I needed to kneel an a kitchen chair to reach the pie and while being covered in melted peanut butter was the obvious highlight of my day, filling the pie with mousse was quickly to become a close second. However, being four years old presented me with a unique set of challenges: the bowl of mousse was larger than my wing span, the spatula was the length of my forearm, and the desire to stick my tongue on and into everything that came within twelve inches of my face made it improbable I would successfully transfer the mousse from bowl to the freshly peanut buttered crust. But, for Pete’s sake, that wasn’t going to stop me from trying. On my own, I might add; I am a very capable four year old, I’m sure of it.

I grab the bowl, suspiciously light for its size, and the spatula then somehow maneuver it to relatively the same vicinity as the pie crust begging to be filled. I begin to tip it, all is going well; the filling starts to flow out with gravity as its aid (not that I’m thinking about gravity, all I know at this moment is pie) and I help a little with the spatula but mostly with my hands to get as much as I can into the crust. I’m doing it, I’m succeeding! More than half of the mousse has miraculously made it into the pie and I only have a little more to go before I finish off with the whipped topping. But, what’s this? The bowl keeps tipping, well past where I need it to be to get my hands into it to direct the still cascading mousse into my perfect beautiful pie. I can’t really stop it from tipping; in fact, it’s slipping out of my pudding covered hands. It’s out of my control! It’s on the floor; so is the pie. How did this happen? I was doing so well, where did I go wrong? I start to cry, as much out of frustration for my failure as for my loss of the glory at a future pie. My mother walks into the room, and there I am, covered in chocolate mousse, peanut butter, and tears. She sees that pie and mousse under the table, face down as according to all laws of physics and she laughs! She laughs at me and my pie, so I hop down and grab a piece of the broken peanut butter crust and thrust it into my mouth, all while completely ignoring her ploys for me to “Stop Denise!”

We all have dropped things while in the process of making something we’re very excited about, I dropped an egg down the counter and onto the floor a few weeks ago while trying to make a cheese sauce, I’ve dropped an entire gallon of milk breaking it and covering myself and the kitchen. Sometimes it’s easy to just get too distracted from what will possibly be the best meal ever prepared to pay attention to something at trivial as what we’re doing. And that’s okay; you can always buy more milk.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

from here to there

I just read my blogs from a year ago, and they were surprisingly not as annoying as I expected them to be.

This month a year ago I was celebrating my one year with David, a land mark I'd never made it to before in a relationship. I was starting to enjoy cooking (weird, really really weird, I used to loathe it, so hard! that I wouldn't even help with holiday dinners unless someone held a gun (or pointy object) to my head, now I'm such a whore for cooking I drop my panties at the first sight of a recipe I know I can master) (sorry for that visual). I was lying to myself about my depression and not talking to any of my friends and ignoring all my problems... and I was on the verge of the hardest break-up I've ever had to endure.

But here I am, a year later, and after six months of therapy I finally have a firm grasp on what I want out of life, a plan on how to get there, and enough motivation to cover two pieces of toast.

Does comparing my motivation to butter make me sound like a fat kid, or what?

I no longer don't sleep at night, in fact I sleep and dream every single night, without fail (as long as I take my medicine). I don't have anxiety attacks that make no sense to even me. I don't dread waking up in the morning as much as laying down to sleep each night. I don't hate myself, and cry all the time.

I'm better, mostly, and I'm fucking grateful.

In less than a month I'll be in school. I've been looking at apartments... I've been reading up a storm so that I will be caught up before it is stolen from we by book learning taking precedence. I've been drinking, enjoying time with the people I love, drinking, and watching tv... mostly because when I'm studying my booty (hole) off, those things won't really fit into my life.

And I'm so excited!

A year ago I would have never believed I'd be where I am now, what a difference a year has made.

Friday, April 1, 2011

being alone

You know that feeling, when you wake up early on a Saturday morning with nothing to do and no where to go. That, "I could get up, but I don't have to... in fact, I don't have to do anything," feeling?

I love that feeling.

I live for that moment of nothingness where I can just be with no interruptions or agendas. I love being able to roll back over, shut my eyes, and keep dreaming.

In NYC I got to spend a significant time alone, and in my therapy session a few days ago, when my therapist asked me about my trip, I gloated over that time I had to just relax. My mind and body were at ease because 1) I couldn't leave her apartment or I would be locked out, and 2) I didn't want to anyways. I slept, watched TV, made grilled cheese, read, skyped, drank milk, (one of my favorite alone activities, ask Ellen or Merry if you don't know why it should be done alone) and did nothing.

I did a significant amount of nothing, with no interruptions or babies crying, without feeling always stressful because my mother just is around me.

Have you ever known anyone who you just automatically become stressed in their presence? Not in a good way either? A teacher you didn't get along well with, a bully, someone who was trying to gank yo boyfriend? Having her in the house makes my nerves stand on end...

Doing nothing is where it's at.

My father has been on vacation since Sunday and I've been sleeping at his house. It's amazing how hard I have been sleeping this week. I have been dreaming my freaky weird dreams per usual, but I don't wake up at 5:30 every morning because of a crying baby, I wake up to pee only. And I walk there with no pants and no bra on, because I can.

I had friends over the other night and made excellent foods, and I didn't do the dishes, and I still haven't done them.

Because I can.

I watch what I want on the TV as loudly as I like.

Because. I. Can.

Craigslist, while a great place to waste time looking at cute puppies, is also a great place to find creepy roommates and crappy apartments to live in. I want to not do the roommate thing, but I also don't want to ruin my life by taking out enough student loans to pay for said apartment of alone blissfulness...

But I know for a fact that I cannot live with my mother and be in school (which is in one month, by the way!!!). I can't come home after a stressful day of trying to learn how to be a nurse twice as fast as the regular people and have her aura of pure annoyance flitting about the house. I can't be woken up in the middle of the night because that's when she thinks it's okay to do the dishes, or the laundry, or just make fucking noise doing whatever the hell it is she does at two in the morning.


dum-ah dum-ah dum-ah

Have you heard of the Brown Derbies? I love a capella boy groups.

So, Craigslist... I have found this 1 bedroom that allows you to have cats with a garage (important, remember, I live in OHIO) and it's only $450 a month plus gas and electric, which the landlord says cumulatively is less than $20 each month... it doesn't have AC though, and I am whiney when I get sweaty. But I would have a room, and a living room, a kitchen type area, and bathroom all to myself!

In order to not go broke, I've been applying for scholarships like a mad woman, hence why blogging hasn't really been happening. You can only rite so many essays on why you deserve scholarships and what America means to me before you get tired of writing altogether and blogging is the last thing that sounds fun. I am very sorry if you missed me, which I am sure you did because I missed you, but I will be back in full force as soon as I can think of anything more exciting to write about than my new hair cut (totally cute by the way, the back is stacked, I have mini bangs, and I am basically teasing the shit out of it so it's big and beautiful (like your mother)).

Oh, in case you're curious about my love life (which hasn't involved the horizontal shuffle for a few weeks now because we have issues (am I too young to be having these sort of issues in a relationship?) just know that I'm back on the saddle and plan on riding the horse as often as the horse will let me...

Cleaner subject matter: Tom and I are smitten as shit with each other and it's equal parts gross and adorable. We have weekly events such as wing night, we snuggle (not all my doing, he likes to cuddle too), we cook together and for each other, we spend time together just doing whatever, because we like being around the other.

Isn't that amazing!??!!?

I like him, far more than I expected, and I am happy with him. That's really all I could ask for at this point, and since he is pretty boss when it comes to life plans and grown up stuff like that, he sort of works in all the other areas of relationship quota I've decided to ignore for the time being. Tom is special, and I really like him.