Musica.

Beautiful.

A song for You.

The perfect Halloween costume

What I am about to tell you may come as a shock, so get your hyperventilating bag ready and hold onto your seats... I HAVE A FRIEND.
I know, I know. I don't know how I manage to keep friends since I am way too lazy to hang out, talk and be friendly.  So I guess it is a good thing my friend lives in South Carolina, and the only time I really talk to her is when I am on the computer.

Anywhoo.. This friend (I SWEAR SHE IS REAL!) came to me with a very serious problem. She needed help that only my intelligence, amazing personality and superior disposition could solve. She needed to find a cheap Halloween costume to wear for her boyfriend named Dom.
Dom is a make-believe man with all the amazing features a girl wishes her guy to be. I helped her create him a few weeks ago while I was bored studying in my Computer Science class.  He somehow managed to look exactly like Jensen Ackles.

Anyways, they really hit it off, and now she needs to look super sexy for him, but doesn't have the money to get a decent costume with the high heels, stockings and whatnots. 

Now, if you have ever met Jen, then you would know she is the PICKIEST MISS PICKSTER in the whole entire world. I came up with some of the most brilliant costumes in the universe, and she shot them all down.

Here are a few of my ideas:

She wasn't really liking my ideas, so I decided to go a different route, and started sending her photos.

Her response:

I tried everything! told her to throw a sheet over her head and go as the KKK, wear black and be a mime and even suggested rolling in cat poop and sand and going as a litter box! She didn't like any of my ideas. I was desperate, so I started thinking outside the box:

No success...  I was starting to get desperate, but still the next attempt was also a fail.

I finally gave up.

All of a sudden it hit me!  I figured it out. I knew the perfect costume for her. She could be sexy, cute, adorable and it is cheap and easy. She could go as a UNICORN!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was so excited, I quickly told her my idea.

But then I showed her how quick and easy the costume was and she was all for it! I'm so glad I was able to help my best friend Jen find the perfect costume!

Oh, and by the way Jen, if you are somehow murdered in a horrible, painful way no one is able to solve, DO NOT FRET! I will console the grieving Dom that looks exactly like Jensen Ackles. 

Why my Greek Teacher loves me.

What a conundrum. I don't know how I managed it, but somehow I have succeeded in the impossible. My Greek Teacher loves me. I'm not exactly sure why he loves me, but he even told me today after class, "Monica. You are the most amazing person in the world! I idolize you. I love you!" Needless to say it was a little creepy, but I'm proud to say I will probably pass the class with an A+.
I'm confused by this amazing feat since I insult and degrade the stocky little bastard at every chance I get. Some examples would be:

"Professor Radd-fucker, since you insist on your students having perfect English grammar, punctuation and spelling throughout the Greek test, I insist you use proper grammar throughout class."
Him-"Well I certainly try!"
Me-"Good, well here is a list of everything you fucked up today. Please note the number '3' next to 'towards'. You added an 's' to' toward' three times today throughout class... which would be improper grammar."
Him. "uhhh..."
Me- Have a good day!"

Not to mention I call out "That's what she said" whenever possible. He still doesn't get it, but laughs accordingly.
"Diceaopolis had trouble rising-"
"THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!!"
(True story.)

Needless to say, he must be a little slow because he seems to really enjoy my involvement throughout the class.

My dog is a serial killer

I just found out my amazing, beautiful silky black hound dog is a serial killer. Yes, you heard me right. She is an outright murderer! And today, I caught her in the act of disemboweling an innocent. The poor little chipmunk had no chance.
I am sure, somewhere out there, is a pile of chipmunk and squirrel bones and rotting bodies, just waiting to be found so their loved ones can find peace.

Maura the Merciless has struck again.

Why I love T-Mobile

So today during school I, for some unknown reason, decided it would be a wonderful idea to drop my unlocked touch-screen phone into my purse. About an hour later, when I realized I hadn't received a single phone call or text from anyone I wondered what could have happened. As a rummaged through my purse, searching desperately for my cellular life-line, horrendous thoughts ran amok through my head. Nobody loved me anymore, small meteors had rained from the sky, killing everyone who would even remotely consider calling me.
My fingers wrapped around the cold plastic in triumph. With a cheer on my lips, I quickly slipped open my innovated, top-of-the-line Samsung Galaxy-T. My cheer turned into a wail of horror.
What is this!?! No! It couldn't be! My wonderful, beautiful phone had rebelled. It was asking me for my pin. What pin? My birthday? No- and to make matters worse, it started laughing at me while counting down my attempts. 0000? No! One attempt left... I started sweating, fear creeped up my spine. I chewed my nails down to the quick as I tried desperately to think of what my pin could possibly be. And then it hit me! I felt so stupid. Just like in starting up a voicemail, it normally takes the last four digits of your cell number. I typed in 8827, a smug smile on my face, knowing I had outsmarted my phone. My phone's screen went black, and then emitted a loud screeching sound before coming back with, "To many attempts. Phone Locked. Contact Customer Care for assistance."

WHAT?????

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm not ashamed to admit it, I cried in the middle of the Kent State University Campus while clutching my phone to my chest in utter dispair. Why me? I had an entire class to sit through, my phone is screeching at me, and to make matters worse, my computer battery was dead and I had forgotten my charger.

My body shut down in fatigue and sorrow, so I slept through my Human Evolution class, then sped home to try and call T-Mobile to see if they could unlock my phone for me.

Here is a fun game to try. Grab a stopwatch, Go to T-Mobile.com, and time yourself to see how long it takes you to find a customer support number.
I called three numbers, each time the tech support people would tell me to call a different number with my problem. Finally I get a hold of someone who is willing to help.
"Thank you for calling T-Mobile, this is Tara, how can I help you?"
"My phone is torturing me! Please help me! It is trying to destroy my life!"
"Okay, can I have your name?"
"Monica."
"Well Monica, it looks like you're not on this account you are calling about."
"It's my poppy's account."
"Well then, have your poppy call us."

So, I had to have my dad call T-Mobile for me, which was more humiliating that crying on campus.

 I get a call a little later from another T-Mobile support guru who can't speak English. She creates a three-way call with me, daddy-o and her and goes over what I need to do.
"Okey, entwer dis pin number intwo da keypad. 55055462446523PIN5PIN#."

"Uhhh.. okay? How long does my pin have to be?" I ask.
Minimum eigth chareectors," she slurs.
"Riiiiight. Okay." ... "It isn't working." Frusteration starts to set in.

"Okey, you sure you have 5550546 blahblahblah?"

"Yes."

"Try again."

"Not working."

"Okey, tell me back number I give you."

"55505blahblahblah.."

"What? No! I sed star! Star, star, star, 0, star." Her accent gets heavier the more irritated she gets, Lucky me.

"Okay miss.. what the hell is a star? You mean asterik?"

"Yesh, asteereek."

"Apparently I am an idiot for not speaking broken english. sorry."

So I switch my 5's for astericks.

"Not working."

"You have Star, star, star, 0 star?"

"Bitch, I want to knife you. I mean, yes, I have star star star 0 star."

"And pin is 8 chareectors?"

"Yes, my pin is eight CHARACTERS."

"Okay. well think of pin as something easy to remember. lieek your birfday. or 1, 2, 3, 4, 5."

This is when my dad has finally had enough.
"Ma'am," my dad cuts in- always the polite gentleman. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, is only five characters. I thought you said she needed eight?"

"What? Ohhhh.. yeesh, I meant eight. 1, 2, 3, 4, 8."

"Daaaaad... can I kill her?"

Long story less long, she was unable to help me and had to transfer me to someone else. While I was in transit, I tried the code with only a four-digit pin. It unlocked.

This is why I love T-Mobile.

Memories

Blood flowed from my split lip and dripped onto my favorite shirt. I stared out the window, watching my last salvation walk away in complete disregard for what he was witnessing.
Tears forced themselves to my eyes, and sheer willpower kept them from overflowing.
Do not show emotion.
Strength I had not envisioned yanked my hair, forcing me to look into cold brown eyes.
"I hate you," I whisper.
She sighed and replied, "I know."

Her hands are like crinkled brown paper bags. Veiny, with long manicured fingernails protruding like claws. My eye caught the engagement ring my dad had given her many years before. It is stained with my blood.

My eyes remained shut tightly in prayer as she made the drive home. Wishing I was not stuck with her. Praying I would wake up and she was just a horrible nightmare. Hoping my dad would come home early and save me.

The engine shut off, and I looked up at the place I was supposed to call home. The one place I should be safe. I don't want to go in. I watch her enter the house and I follow slowly. Dread gripped my heart as I reached for the knob.
Locked.
I go to the front door, and just as I reach for the handle, I hear the key turn. Locked.
I go to the backyard, and I see her throw the dogs outside and slam the door shut. I hear the snick of the bolt sliding into place. Locked.  I wonder how long it will be this time.

I roamed the neighborhood for the night, cursing my bad luck as I realized both my friends were out of town.

The moon rose and the house remained locked up tight.
Tears streamed down my face as I gave in to self pity. Why me?




I can't believe I am about to publish this. Fuck it. 

Good fences make good neighbors

Our upstairs neighbor, who Kristen and I affectionately refer to as the 'Whore of Babylon', is the bane of our existence. You might be wondering why. If not, tough shit. I am going to tell you anyways.

1. She has a squeaky bed. Now, this might not be a big deal under normal circumstances, but when you live underneath someone with a multitude of male suitors (they aren't really suitors, if you know what I'm saying) this can become quiet irritating.

 

2. She has the gracefulness of an elephant. I should not know her exact location within her condo at 2 a.m., and yet I do because of her stomping.

3. She has an affinity for high heels. I like heels just as much as the next girl, but when she has them glued to her feet at all hours, and seems to pass time by walking laps around her condo, the clunking noise makes me want to stab her in the throat with a meat cleaver.  

4. She has taken it upon herself to contact the condo association detailing our numerous 'neighborly transgressions'. One of our supposed transgressions occured during an innocent outdoor game of toss-the-teddy bear with Maura, my dog. The cottony, soft, stuffing-filled, eye-less toy may have hit the side of the building once or twice. The Whore of Babylon was supposedly unable to sleep due to the loud banging noises the stuffed animal created, and she felt it necessary to rally for our eviction.

5. She thinks "Maura" is a boy's name. And yet, she teaches. Poor children. 

6. She has a horse-face. Kristen and I agreed already that our neighborhood should only allow attractive people, so we feel she should be evicted for this reason alone.

7. At least she's really friendly! Oh, wait. No she's not. She seems to be as kind hearted as Hitler and Satan's love child. 

If any of you, my dear readers, have any tips on how to deal with an unruly neighbor, please leave a comment below. Be quick about it though, or I'll be back here shortly begging for suggestions on how to dispose of a body instead.

--
If you like to laugh, click this link: ludakristen.com (You're welcome)

I am not a lazy person

I don't understand why people call me lazy. I get up and do things regularly. I take my dog to the dog park, I go to school and work, I run 26 mile marathons and practice my roundhouse kick with Chuck Norris every other day. These are not signs of laziness!
I mean, sure, most of the time you will find me on the couch playing Backyard Monsters or watching Supernatural reruns, or pretending to be asleep on my bed while my dog diligently watches for any movement that will alert her I am awake so she can whine and bark and scratch at the door to go potty. And true, I may prefer to use Twitter and sit outside for three hours chain smoking instead of reading the Narrative of Fredrick Douglass for my history class. But I swear- I am NOT lazy.

 Just pretend you don't notice the blaring television because the TV is to far away from the couch and the remote ran away. And I might hit snooze three... or twenty times before climbing out of bed, and I have to be honest, I sometimes skip showers because I just don't want to bathe- but I don't see how that is construed as me being lazy. I heard it was unhealthy to wash your hair every day anyways.

I may worship the person who designed the Circle K drive thru so I can buy my necessary items like chips and Full Throttle without even having to get out of my car, and I sometimes pretend I don't hear people when they are calling or talking to me because I feel like it would take to much effort to think of a response. But that does not make me lazy.

Swearsies.

Aliens, Hockey Players and University Hospital

So last night was Sunday night. I have come to love Sundays simply for the fact my sister and I go play hockey up in Cleveland with an adult pickup team. Well, my sister plays, I go and skate around, then go up to the bar and drink while they start their game.  Last night was especially important cause I had to study for a mid term for the following morning (today.)

So after I skated around for 45 minutes, I clambered off the ice, changed into unsmelly clothes, then hit the books. Not twenty minutes later I look up and all play has ceased. There seemed to be a huge conglomerate of players by the bench, and I assumed they were having a quick meeting. So back to studying I go. Just as I start working on the definition of Mercantilism, a puck smashes into the window right in front of me. I naturally land sprawled out on the floor with beer all over me. Cussing up a stream, which caused the children in the room to start crying, I climbed to my feet and looked out the now rubber-streaked window. And what I saw literally caused my heart to jump into my throat and stop beating. Three of my sisters fellow players stood there with white-stricken faces gesturing wildly for me to get down to the ice. Spilling the rest of my beer on my text books as I grabbed my purse.

 You see, my sister went to the doctor the other day and was suspected of having mono- the kissing disease. Which wouldn't have been a problem, but mono is known to swell the spleen and can rupture if playing contact sports. So as I'm trying to run down the stairs in flimsy flipflops, my thought process was, "Her spleen exploded and her body is filling up with bile and poop and she's going to die and she'll have poop all inside her."

When I got to the ice, although trying to be helpful, her teammates simply made my terror worse. I heared ten different stories about what happened before even laying eyes on my near dead sister, and I was close to murder.
 "She fell and landed on her head,"
 "No she fell and landed on her back,"
"I didn't see her fall, I just saw her faint"
 "She fell and slid feet first into the boards,"
 "An alien popped out of her chest and is now loose in the rink."

I made it to the bench just as they got her up and were moving her to the ice to lay down on a flat surface. I can honestly say, I am very glad at the diversity of her team. We had a paramedic, a plastic surgeon and a dentist helping her out. So now someone can help her with her medical problem, the surgeon can probably sew up the hole in her chest from the alien with minimum scarring, and the dentist can whiten her teeth for her before her picture gets splattered all over the news for surviving an alien attack.

Someone managed to find Kristen's cell phone and I promptly called my dad in a near panic. "Dad! Kristen was attacked by an alien. I don't think she is going to make it, but they called the paramedics and they are on their way."
"Is she okay?" said my dad, always the calm port in the storm.
"No dad! She has a huge gaping hole in her chest!" At this point I'm crying my eyes out while my sisters fellow teammates try to soothe me by patting my back with their massive gloves. still have the bruises to prove it.

The paramedics showed up and I had to hang up and talk to them and get all of our stuff together and find my purse which had somehow ran away. My dad called me about three times ever five minutes for updates, which did NOT help my state of mind.
After a near death experience in the ambulance where a flying saucer tried to beam up the entire vehicle, we made it to University Hospital's ER.

They wheeled her into Room 18. But after being in a small, enclosed room with Kristen they all left as fast as they could. I don't blame them one bit, and I wish I could have gone with them. Kristen smelled like a half-decomposed dead animal rotting and baking in the sahara desert. As one of the doctors left, he patted my shoulder and, while gasping for air, asked me if I could remove everything from the waste down. This is when I knew it was going to be a long night.

Working slowly, I removed her socks, shin guards, skates and padded pants. And as each piece of equipment was removed, I came closer to fainting from lack of oxygen.
I quickly gave up, spurted some excuse to Kristen about how I needed to call dad and left the room. The only problem was her stink had seeped into my clothing. The doctors started handing out gas masks lysol spray to anyone who HAD to enter her room.

After a while,  I think they were scared she was going to pass out from her own smell, so they wheeled her off for some cat scans and xrays, then forgot her in a hallway for a while, until the smell started seeping into some of the offices where the doctors were taking breaks and eating dinner/breakfast, so they had to put her back into her initial room. It got to the point where no one would enter her room. We sat there for six hours until finally someone got the courage to enter the room and explain Kristen wasn't attacked by an alien and had whiplash from falling on her clumsy feet, then discharged her.

We got home at fourish in the morning. I faceplanted into my bed and didn't move until 8:50- the LAST possible minute I had to get up and get to class for my midterm.I gave myself enough time to brush my teeth. Although my professor was understanding enough and is letting me take the test tomorrow morning instead, I can honestly say aliens, hockey players and University Hospital in Cleveland do not mix well with each other.

Creep

I feel like I have a creepy guy pheromone. For some ungoldy reason, the most unsavory men find me, ask me out, and then proceed to follow me around like a love-sick puppy until he moves into creepy stalker mode.  For all the men out there, I want to give you a handful of tips to be as uncreepy as possible.

1. Upon first meeting, DO NOT talk about how some girl accused you of raping her.
2. If some girl looses her mind for a minute and gives you her phone number, DO NOT call her four times in one night, text her twice and leave a voicemail. It's effin creepy and annoying.
3. Loose the weight. I'm not saying you have to have ripplin' muscles and a six pack, but if you are obese, and trying to hit up that hot cheerleader... you are setting yourself up for failure.
4. When a girl gives you the friend speech, do not call her bad names, do not cuss at her, or blow up her phone with rude text messages.
5. Do not give her the glare of death throughout all of class.
6. Do not follow behind her while she walks to her car, especially when she knows you park on the opposite side of campus.

When a dead animal is found under her car, even if it died a natural death and crawled under there to preserve it's body from getting mutilated by other predators, the girl is going to naturally think you put it there. I can honestly say, when the girl thinks creepy guy has reached the dead animal present stage, her first reaction will be to go to the police.  So, creepy guy- an eye for an eye. If I find another dead animal under my car, your car is going to get destroyed. Carrie Underwood is going to look like an amateur. It's going to be a fucking scavenger hunt to find all your car pieces. But I'll give you a hint to start somewhere. You can find one of your tires on the roof of Bowman hall.

 Let the games begin.

Lyme Disease

So my older sister calls me out of the blue last week in a blind panic.
"Oh Monica! Thank god you answered your phone! You are the ONLY one who can save me!!! Oh please! Please come to Virginia and watch two dogs, three cats and a lizard. If you don't, we all shall perish!"*

So naturally, being the most awesoe** sister in the world, I packed my bags, told my boss to shove it where the sun don't shine,* and drove six hours to a small neighborhood in Alexandria, VA.  As I am pulling up to the house, I start to wonder- How will I ever get in? My sister had already gone, and forgot to tell me where she put the key. Perhaps in the mailbox? No. Under the welcome mat? No welcome mat to put it under. Under any rocks? Nope. Well damn. I guess I'm going to have to use my spiderman skills and scale the house to find an open window. And just as I dawn my super cool costume- My phone rings. Now, because I love my ringtone, I let it ring a few times while I play air guitar before picking it up.

My sister once again.
"Oh Monica! You are the most amazing, coolest sister ever! I was so terrified of burglars or someone coming in and steal one of my cats, I HAD to find a really good hiding place for the key to the house.  Now listen closely, for this is extremely dangerous. First, you must break into the neighbors shed and find fire-retardant gloves. Then in the back of the house you will see it. I built this metal cage to contain the fierce blueberry eating dragon of doom! Beware! After ingesting large quantities of blueberries, they turn into a molten like jam substance in which he can spit at you. I hid my house key inside his cage. Good luck. I have no doubt you will succeed."*
So after a fierce battle with a blueberry spewing dragon, I snatched the keys from under a log and entered the house and call my sister back to tell of my heroic feat.
"Oh Monica, you are truly the most courageous person I have ever met. I will pay you in jewels, gold and cocaine! Thank you! Thank you!"*

So, all is well in the Erickson/Scott household, until this morning. When I woke up, I felt fine. Stretched, fed the dogs. Let them out. Fed the cats, let them out. Found Lucifer, who happens to be possessing a cat named Jenkins, and made sure they had food and water before kicking them back outside. Then I went to the bathroom, and lo and behold, guess what  I found. Three ticks. Sucking my blood. Near my... nether regions.  Now let me explain the full process of removing a tick.

Step 1. Panic. Scream like a little girl. Flap your hands at it, as if you will suddenly posses magic to get rid of them.
Step 2. Strip. Remove all icky clothing in case there are more hiding in the fabric.
Step 3. Streak. Run throughout the house, with three dogs chasing you think it is all in good fun. Realize the next door neighbor can see you running through the house, and have a flash of fear course down your spine while thinking how he was going to call the cops since he probably thinks I'm some fruity nut job who broke into their neighbors house.
Step 4. Destroy. Rip out all cabinets, drawers and hiding places in search for a lighter.
Step 5. Streak #2. Run back through said house, while waving to neighbor, who is still in driveway with jaw on floor.
Step 6. Tweeze. Find a pair of tweezers.
Step 7. Kill.  Using the lighter, heat the end of the tweezers until extremely hot. Spread the skin really tight, and then as fast as possible, grab the little piece of shit and pull him out. Destroy as you seem fit.
Step 8. Repeat. If you must, repeat step seven as many times as necessary.

Although I do advise going to the doctor after your experience, just to ensure you didn't manage to obtain Lyme disease.

I also advise washing everything in sight.

I still have five days left of watching all the animals. I will keep you all updated throughout my quest to destroy all blood sucking demons.




* Slight exaggerations.
** Misspelled on purpose.

Black Widow

Your Gaze lingers on me, searching my soul.
I hide my darkest secret.
Throw those shutters over my eyes.
Fake smiles never reach these amber orbs.
For it is up to me to decide.
Braces myself, prepare for the worst-
Lift the lids, damn the consequences.
You are mine.
I tell you the truth. 
Let the horror wash over your face.
No acceptance.
No love.
Gliding through your body.
So shocked, no struggle.
Metal reaches life.
Metal reaches death.
My secret has grown.

Everything I have learned about myself, my dog, my cat, and the United States of America while driving across the country.

As most of you all know, I decided it was time to pack my happy white ass up and move back home. Well, since I am such a loving and caring owner of two animals, I decided I was going to drive from California to Ohio. Somewhere in my mind I thought this would be MUCH better than flying.  Note to self- next time-fly.
Here are a few observations while traveling:
1. Leaving California was the saddest part of my trip
2.  My cat likes to lick windows when drugged.
3. My cat poops a lot.
4. My cat blames me when he passes out in his recently used litter box.
5. While drugged, my cat can still move faster than a speeding bullet.
6. You know your cat is too fat when he can depress the brake pedal, sending your car into the same momentum of slamming on the breaks.
7. Raeef gets revenge if you crate him after jumping on the brake pedal.
8. Maura is a saint for putting up with Raeef.
9. Arizona has snow.
10. I still scream like a little girl when I see snow for the first time in forever.
11. Maura panics with sudden noises (Such as me screaming).
12. Arizona (I think) is home of the Petrified Forest.
13. Don't EVER drive through the Petrified Forest at night.
14. I hate New Mexico. Don't ask me why. I just fucking hate that state.
15. I saw the sign "Grand Canyon parking- Exit here" and I had that split second "Should I?" and after giving it serious contemplations (five seconds) I decided I have NO desire to see the Grand Canyon.
16. Okay- seriously Texas. What the Fuck is wrong with you? SERIOUSLY?????  Every other 49 states in America has been going through this deficit problem. You know- where all the states are saying, 'hey we're poor. Sorry paramedics, firefighter and cops- you're all fired?' Well, obviously Texas didn't get that memo because I didn't go ten minutes without seeing, being paced by, or being behind a freaking state trooper. Get with the program Texas. How can I speed if you guys don't work with me?
17 (And to contradict number 16-) Texas has some sexy ass state troopers. :)
18. OH MY GOD OKLAHOMA. I have to say- men- if you have a hunched back- missing an eye, only managed to save three teeth from decay and have sores-ON YOUR FACE- I'm asking- DO NOT APPROACH LONE TRAVELING FEMALES. You are creepy. I'm alone. If you touch me, you will die.
19.  Oklahoma people are a mixture of the Hills Have Eyes meets the most inbred West Virginian family.
20. Congratulation Johnny from getting out of jail. Now shut the fuck up so I can sleep. (Motel 6- Joplin, Missouri)
21. Saint Louis, Missouri. The place where I nearly died four times in five seconds, pissed myself a little bit out of terrifying fear and prayed for twenty minutes AFTER coming out of battle alive and in one piece. 
22. My GPS likes it when I turn 'sharply right'.
23. When alone with only a bored dog and a drugged cat, you begin to wonder what your life would be like in a movie scene like "Finding Nemo."
24. I practiced my Whale Speech for a good two hours until Kristen called me.
25. While bored, I got into a conversation with my GPS. Then I got angry at her. And I began to scream at her. Mid tirade, (I kid you not-) the screen flickered once- as if in warning which I ignored- then shut off. After a hard reset, my GPS takes five minutes to fully load all functions again.
26. My self control lasts about two hours when I have an unopened 'family sized' bag of doritos in the car.
27. I can demolish a giant bag of Doritos in four hours.
28. I was yelled at via text by everybody except Naomi and Meghan to stop texting and driving. Well, news flash, I only texted you all because you texted me first. :( You all asked me a question... I responded AND THEN I GET YELLED AT. WTF.
29. I have an unnatural fear of Zombies, falling, and drowning in the ocean. Oklahoma people can be added to that list. And Saint Louis.
30.  I've been craving a beer. And not just any beer.. an ice cold Tona. Straight out of Kristen's fridge. My drive- my passion- my motivation is getting that beer. I'm being driven, just like a mouse through a maze and a piece of cheese. I don't care about the outcome.. I just really-REALLY want that Tona.

Love you all!

The War

For the last few years, and friend and I have been having this large debate, which naturally turned into World War III, where Bull Sharks have completely overwhelmed the invading forces of Tiger Sharks and Zombies combined. Because Bull Sharks are awesome. And tiger sharks suck. And Zombies are scary, so I had the bull sharks kill all of them.

See, this war all started with a squished mosquito, preserved in the pages of an old journal. With it's dying breath, this blood-sucking insect told me to beware the evil-doings of the one-eyed witch. Upon realizing the bug was talking to me, I naturally freaked and squished it again- this time confirming it's death.

  Throughout this bloody war, many lives were lost, people were eaten, Bull Sharks have taken over the air, and Tiger Sharks have invaded the sewer systems of New Jersey, and yet, they require fur-lined coats to survive- case and point- Tiger Sharks are lame.

Sméagol like creatures have been developed and replaced dogs for tracking, I have become an expert sniper, and people have snorted cocaine and ran away to amusement parks.   Super Zombies were created- and killed, the world has ended five times, and running shoes are not always required.  

Flamethrowers are the ultimate weapon, tree-climbers are out for easy pickings, Gnomes are evil little creatures that attack toes, and mashed potatoes are awesome.

But, as I have been pointing out this entire time-

Bull Sharks rule.

Oh Tona, how I miss you...

As I sit vegging out in front of the television, sippin' on my Corona, I suddenly had this overwhelming urge to throw it away and go on an expedition to find the best beer in the world. Tona, my love. I am coming for you. I will find you. And I will drink you.

The Jungle Cat

Gold orbs follow my slightest movement, waiting for the prime opportunity. My back turns, and the great beast swishes his tail in anticipation--The Game is on.  One padded claw drops silently infront of another as he closes in on his prey. His satan-slanted eyes never leaving my unsuspecting back as I fold my laundry.  He slowly picks up speed when he realizes I am preoccupied. His muscles bunch, his pelt ripples across his shoulders as he prepares to pounce. I hear nothing, until- CRUNCH. I turn swiftly to run to the kitchen, passing the entryway just in time to scream, "Raeef! You fat ass cat! Get out of the freezer!"