Thursday, August 22, 2013

The Adventures of Awesome-O, and A Fish Named Wanda

I found this draft saved from almost exactly a year ago. It's short, but I thought I'd share it anyway. Funny thing is, the exact thing happened this year when the fair came around as well :)

Funnel Cakes, Orange Julious' and a giant corn dog are the three must haves on my list of fair food. I knew they were in town. I could smell their presence in my new town from a mile away.We resisted the urge to go to the Sonoma County Fair until the second to last day. To be honest, I think we were just too busy to go any earlier than that.

I'm 23. Craig is 27. When the fair comes, we become a strange mix of 13 years, and 87 years old. 

Beauty and The Beast

There are 7 of us in a van. I think. It's been converted to act as 3 totally separate tent-like sleeping quarters. I'm not sure where we are, but it's lush and gorgeous. There is a campfire, and 7 identical chairs haphazardly strewn around it. My mother is making breakfast on the stove she's so delicately placed on the dirty picnic table. The smoke kisses my face, and intimately dances with each strand of my hair.

Suddenly, a pint sized woman I've never met before infiltrates the peaceful familiarity that surrounds me. She sits down in one of the 7 chairs for the 7  people in the circus van I've come in. We stare at her. We look around at each other for some sort of indication as to who she may be. Every face is filled with wonder.
"Hi...?" I say, trying to obtain some information as to who this woman may be. "Are you camping here?"
"Yes," she says in a very thick Russian accent, "over there," she points to a campsite next to ours, but separated by a very thick wooded area.
"Oh! How did you sleep?" I ask.
"Awful. You woke me from nap." She snapped back.
"I see," I reply, instantly filled with anger for this woman. "Is that why you're here? Sitting in our chair, around our campfire?"
"Yes."
Worried looks and nervous silence fills the air, with the exception of this impostor and myself whose gaze has yet to leave one another. And very out of character, I offer, "well, we quiet ourselves at night to allow people to sleep, however, we have no control over when you take your nap."
"Ask for a site reassignment," Craig offers.
"That's good idea," she answers, "you should do that."
"He meant you, not us" I clarify.

A band is due to play near by. A famous band. At this point the van has been moved to the side of the road in a little town. Two women, including the pint sized Russian who'd stopped by our campsite before, stop and open the door of the van to look in. Without hesitation, they climb inside, unaware that I am in the back.
"You shouldn't be in here," I warn.
"I'd like to see you make me leave," she retorts.
"If you don't get out on your own, I will happily assist you."
She sits in the seat in front of me, and buckles herself in. She folds her arms, and with eyes of defiant determination, stares ahead. I climb in front of her, slide my left arm behind her back, and my right under her knees. I unbuckle her with my right hand, and plop her outside. 
"Have a nice day!" I say, as they sheepishly walk away.

I begin to close and lock up the van, suddenly alone. The band is on the other side of the street playing my favorite song. 
I climb into the front seat looking for an electric lock. The driver door is ajar, and resting at the base of the window is a small black scorpion. Next to it, and about the size of a silver dollar,  is what looks to be two thick, hairy black spiders that have melted together, with a ring of wings around it's crown. 
I freeze.
I call over a band mate to help me get them off of the door so I can lock it. He stands about 6ft tall, and is wearing shorts and flip flops. I am in boots. 
"You're in boots, and you want me to get them?!" 
He slams the door. The winged spider monster flies at me, no doubt to make me his lunch. I scream.
*****************
I wake up. Craig gives me a kiss on the nose, and gently nuzzles my cheek. Surprisingly, I'm in a fantastic mood and wide awake. I tell him the story of my dream, and how it ended with a giant 19 legged halo winged monster flying at me, resulting in a scream. That's when I see it. We sleep in a loft, and a giant black spider is on our roof. We stare at each other, the spider and I. Then, as if he was the beast in the dream, he makes his way toward me. All eight legs running to finish what his dream counterpart couldn't. I jump onto the ladder to make my way down to the safety of the ground floor. 
*CRACK* 
Craig slowly lowers the plastic water bottle he'd just used to stop the pursuit.
"I just saved your life," he calmly says to me with a look of achievement.
My hero.







Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Emily the Cowardly Dog

Today I am going to share a very true story about how big of a pussy I am. Sadly, everything you are about to read is true...

Do you remember my friend Craig, the photographer? Of course you do. You CLEARLY remember every detail of my blogs, right? Of course right! Well, we weren't exactly just friends.We started dating almost a year ago, and live together in a very cozy, absolutely adorably perfect house. It's great, so long as he doesn't leave me home alone...

One night...ONE NIGHT Craig went out with some friends. I had to work the next morning and couldn't go. I told myself I was going to be a responsible adult (I keep trying to wrap my head around that concept) go to bed early, and be sound asleep by the time Craig came home. I should have known better. I should have remembered that I call the police when my heater turns on at night, when I'm home alone and don't recognize the sound. I should have remembered that I hide in rooms, closets, cupboards, pretty much whatever I can crawl into when I hear someone throwing glass into a trashcan at 3am. Yes, my friends, I am that girl. I freak myself out when left alone in a house at night. I'm convinced that the boogie man is out to get me, and in fact laughs at my trembles and increased PG&E bill due to leaving every light on in the house.I think my mother forgot to give me my big girl panties when she gave me my first box of tampons during puberty.

Not 5 minutes after Craig left the house, I heard a noise. Creeeeeeeeek! Squeek. Squeek. Squeek. A slow rolling grocery basket was being pushed along my street somewhere. I text Craig:
"Literally as soon as you left, it sounded like a hobo rolling a shopping cart down the sidewalk, then someone whistling. CREEPY" Craig replied, "I love you baby. We should get you a club." My response, "A club, a shotgun, and mace. And a doberman. Definitely a doberman..."

I avoided all rooms with uncovered windows. Internal battles ensued. I contemplated keeping the porch light off, thinking that if I turned it on, my house would act as a  bat symbol, and every evil doer would appear on my doorstep ready to prove their dominance. Or the hobos crazed off bath-salts would be drawn to the light like a moth to a flame, and begin the zombie apocalypse we ALL know is coming. I contemplated leaving the light on, thinking that if someone were to try and make their way past my castle walls, someone would undoubtedly see and come to my rescue. I kept the light on.

"Maybe I should just take a shower and go to bed..." I thought to myself as I barricaded myself in my bedroom.
"But if  I take a shower I'll be vulnerable.." I settled on bath.

I went to bed.
"Should I turn on my fan? If I don't, I may not hear if someone comes in...But if I turn it on, maybe I can chill out..." I turned on the fan.


I laid there. Staring at the ceiling convinced Craig was going to come home to a scene out of a horror movie. Instead, he came home at 2am to a very scared, very tired girl friend.

One thing I forgot to mention; Craig was scheduled to go on a male bonding back-packing trip with his best friends....for 5 days.....

Good God, someone lend me a pair of big girl panties....

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Make that a Gluten Free Cupcake. Hold the Razors.

For several years now, I've suffered from chronic migraines. In fact, last year, I had at least one migraine a day.. As you can imagine, they were a bit intrusive. I mean, how am I supposed to enjoy Glee to it's full potential when my head feels like it's been stuffed into a juicer with a handful of rocks, and a few dozen daggers (you know, just for a little flavor.)  I still get them, but thankfully, I only get about one a week now, if I'm lucky. Their severity, typically causes me to hide away in a dark room with a pillow over my head, hissing like a vampire any time any one attempts to disrupt, or alter my cave like environment. 

6 years ago, my mom was diagnosed with Celiac disease. Basically, Celiac is an allergy to gluten. No wheat, no rye, no barley. Since she was diagnosed, she has urged me to get tested to see if I have the same disease, as it can be genetic, and I exhibit some of the symptoms. The test includes a blood test that searches for an antibody, and if that comes back positive, an endoscopy is performed to fully diagnose the disease. Having an almost debilitating fear of needles, and a long term love affair with bread, I had no intention of getting tested. Until my brother was diagnosed. Within a week, she called me with an appointment set up, and a blood order from my doctor all ready to go to have me tested. I took a deep breath, put my big girl panties on, and had the blood test done. Although I didn't cry, yes, my fear of needles is THAT bad, I did clench my eyes, squeeze my mothers hand, and try to ignore the blood splatters on the wall next to me. 

For a week, I over indulged myself on all things gluten, in anticipation of being told that I wouldn't be allowed to eat it anymore. 
"Enjoy that while you can!" My mother would cackle as I ate a slice of bread. 
Finally the call came. 
"Emily, your test came back negative. You do not have Celiac."

Immediately, I called my mom.
"NEGATIVE!!! I TOLD YOU!!" I screamed. 
"Well, I still think you should try a gluten free diet," she replied.

I am now week 1 into a month long gluten free diet. It's difficult, I won't lie. All I want is to indulge in a slice of cheesecake, dancing in pure jubilation on top of a mountain of gluten injected toast. But instead, I'm trying to find alternatives to the foods I love. It's helpful having a mother who's been living with this for 6 years. So far, I've discovered I enjoy steel cut oats, gluten free pizza, and gluten free french toast. If you have any favorite gluten free recipes, or suggestions, let me know! 

Recipe for Awesome Gluten Free Steel Cut Oats:
Make steel cut oats from scratch
Add Honey, milk, and a decent spoonful of Coconut Oil. 
Stir everything up, and enjoy the gloriousness that you have just created. 
yummmmmmmmmmmmmm                                                                                               

Monday, December 5, 2011

If You Horribly Scar Your Face For a Blog Picture, It's Not My Fault

This weekend, I met up with my friend Craig Clement to hang out and shoot some pictures. I'd made a comment to him that I needed a headshot, and he offered to take them. Nice guy, eh? It was my first time ever being in a professional studio and having shots taken of me. I also got to play the role of helper in shooting pictures for this blog, and play around with editing a bit. The whole thing was an amazing, fun experience, and a fantastic learning one at that. In any case, I thought I would share some of the shots he took.
Why yes. On occasion, I can look serious.
This is the only non-goofy photo of the bunch, however ;)

Edited this one all by myself....well, after Craig taught me how to use his editing program.

We're pretty sure Nikon is going to jack this shot for an ad.

Have you seen Austin Powers? Well, in the movie, he screams things like
"You're a tiger! Yes! YES!" and "NO! NO! Now you're little bunny foo foo!"
 "Work it!! WORK IT!!" Craig recreated the scene.

Although it's hard to tell, this is the new background for the blog :)

Painting on the "blood" with a toothbrush. Red food coloring for the "blood splatters"
and red corn syrup stuff for the thicker "blood" on the razor blades.

Hygene first, kids. Always brush with red sugar paste. Fantastic for your teeth,
plus freak mom out with the appearance of a bloody mouth! Fun for all!!
 
And this is where I started to freak him out a bit. He was a
liiiiiiiiittle uncomfortable with how close the razors were to my face.

This is after I took a bite out of the cupcake. Craig, being the nice guy that he is, didn't tell me my face was covered in frosting. I do like that you can see the red food coloring from the "blood splatters" on my thumb though :)

"Em....PLEASE don't cut your mouth open..."

"OMG! You're going to scar your face up for this blog. It's not gonna be my fault.
I'm not taking responsability for your damaged face..." P.S. That is not real blood on my mouth or tongue. I licked the corn syrup off of one of the razors.




* No bloggers were hurt in the making of this photo shoot*

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Things Your Father Always Told You

My dad is big on being a dad. By that I mean he's always there to give advice, requested or otherwise, smile as he shakes the hand of any potential male suitor as he informs them of how much he loves to use his shot gun,  remind me to bring a jacket and be safe, and most of all, to take care of my car.

I like to think that I am a good daughter. I often tease my brothers that I am the favorite child. It's funny, because it's true. I listen to my fathers advice, encourage him to intimidate the guys, always have a jacket, and for the most part, try to be as safe as possible. My car, however, is another story. It's not that I intentionally disregard his "reminders," I just forget. If it's running fine, it means everything inside of it is fine, right?....Yea, I'm pretty sure that's how it works...

I got my license at 17 (I was terrified to drive and had no interest in it until that point) and was given a 1997 Saturn. No, my parents did not buy me said car. My dad had bought it for himself as a commuter car. It was then passed down to my brother who ran it almost to extinction, then lovingly gave it to me to drive until a piston valve shot through my engine block as I drove home from work one night. First, I heard it. Then, as I looked in my review mirror and watched the metal valve bounce in a desperate attempt to catch up to my car and retake it's rightful position in my engine, the thought occurred to me..

"Oh shit...did I change the oil like dad told me too?? Is that why this thing just exploded?!"

To clarify, that's not why it happened.

My second car was a 2006 Hyundai. Again, my father continuously told me to take care of it. You know, check the air pressure in the tires, check the oil, blah blah blah. On multiple occasions, I would come home to my father looking ever so proud and asking,

"So...?"
"So...what?" I would reply
"So did you notice I filled your windshield wiper fluid?" or something to that effect.

Other times I would come home to him looking at me over the top of his glasses, a look my family calls "the dad look," asking again

"So...?"
"So...what?"
"Did you take your car in?"
"Uh....not yet, but I will."
"You know, Em, I don't like to nag, but you need to take care of your car."
"I know, I know. I will..."

I have since gotten a 2008 Kia, and so far, I've been pretty good about her maintenance. Recently, however, she has been throwing tantrums. I think she's feeling neglected because she needs a bath, or maybe she's just acting out for attention. In any case, she refuses to start in the worst situations. For example, I went to the mall to kill a little time before meeting up with a friend. I came back out to my car. It was dark. There were monsters and creepers lurking everywhere. There was a cracked out Monk in a stairwell watching me as he lit up his pipe. I tried to start her.
Click. Click. Click.
Nothing.

I was heading to work, and needed to stop to get gas. I stopped at a pump, filled her up, hopped back in hoping I wouldn't be late. I tried to start her.
Click. Click. Click.
Nothing.

Today, I went to a college to try and sign up for classes. I parked my car, and went to get a parking permit. The machine only accepted cash. I also discovered that I was parked on the wrong side of the campus, and needed to move my car anyway.  I walked back to my car to swing by an ATM and come back. I tried to start her.

Click. Click. Click.
"seriously, car, don't do this to me...."
Click. Click. Click.
She was laughing at me, I just knew it...
Click. Click. Click.
"ok...maybe if I just sit here and will her to start, she will"

For the past month or so, my dad has been lovingly reminding me, not nagging, reminding me to take my car in and see about getting it fixed.

Today, as I sat grumbling and listening to the ever continuous cackle of  "Click. Click. Click." I made the call.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Drugs are Bad, Mkay?

While searching YouTube for some entertainment, I stumbled upon these PSA gems from the 80s. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did ;)

I know a different version of this song...

Didn't he end up using this stuff?

"GET OUTA THERE!"

A Little off topic of drugs, but too good not to post.


This is just part of the 27minute video. You're not missing out on a whole lot from the rest of the moive...yes, I watched the whole thing.

Why don't they have commercials like this out now?! These are some wise words by some wise people
.