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.

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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.