HELLO EVERYBODY!!!!!!!!!

The Long-Winded, Never-Ending Blog Post

Nearly Two weeks–

So, TADA!!!  I’m here, finally.  It has been a long wait (for me at least).  And the funny thing is, I’m not even actually posting this normally.  You see, I moved like, two weeks ago almost.  We were supposed to have internet within a couple of deals.  No biggie.  But then there was something about people being stupid and inconsiderate (*ahemcenturylinkahem*) and turns out, it’s going to basically be forever before we get internet.  So, I was like, “Hey, you don’t need internet to use Word!!”  (I’m so genius.)  So, BASICALLY, I can fulfill half of my blogging obsession and write.  I just can’t be all nosy and hear about other people’s high school drama, squirrel trapeze artists, and random quotes from suicidal writers from long ago (yay for Sylvia Plath).  And, instead of writing a bunch of blog posts and killing your eyes from all the Vengeance Intensity showing up, I’ll just write a really long blog post to cover the dinosaur ages I’m living in right now.  And, hopefully fool you into thinking that it really isn’t too long.

Moving day was awesome and exhausting.  I was really hyped up on caffeine; my mom’s coffee is like straight espresso.  The first time I drank it I didn’t know what to do.  Now, I have issues drinking Starbucks.  Thanks Mom.  Anyhow, the night before, actually, the day before we packed a lot of boxes and did some shopping and got the kids ready to transfer into their new schools.  I was really tired the whole day because I had stayed up late the night before packing stuff from my room.  Then I got up and packed most of the kitchen, more of mine and Kennedy’s room, Nathan’s room, the laundry room… You get the picture.  And we still didn’t have most of the house packed.  Eight people equals a lot of crap.  Then we had to load it up.  Sigh.  I ended up getting rid of some stuff that I had been hesitant about throwing away before.  I got rid of all my soccer, basketball, track meet, and academic trophies.  I mean, what am I supposed to do with them?  Get married and display them in a trophy room.  Yeahh….  So I threw those out.  I also threw out most of my stuffed animals.  Now, if you don’t know me well, this wouldn’t seem like a big deal.  But me and my animals are tight.  We have deep and serious relationships.  I cut their hair; I cook them flash-card-lasagna (instead of studying the flashcards); I give them baths, walk them, and give them bows and name tags; I make sure they are always comfortable not only when I leave for school, but at night as well; I’ve named them all; I even drew portraits of them in my own nonartistic Picasso style I’ve got.  BASICALLY, I have a thing about stuffed animals.  Even though I didn’t really play with Barbies and all those other toys people got me, I loved playing with my stuffed animals.  So, for me to get rid of my stuffed animals that I had named, cuddled, and given haircuts to… it’s a big deal, okay?  Even if I am nineteen.  No hating.  But, I didn’t throw them in the trash.  I take really good care of my stuff.  They all looked really nice and I couldn’t justify throwing them out like childhood memories, so I put them in bags (body bags, gulp) and donated them to a local Salvation Army thing.  Now, a little kid gets to hang out with my awesome childhood buddies.

My favorite part of moving day is a toss up.  I really enjoyed the moment I was getting up from the floor and my back finally popped.  But also, my favorite Meeme and Grandpa (HI!!!!) brought my Lazy-Boy recliner from their house.  They drove all the way down to us just to do so.  They were holding on to it for me at their house, and I guess Grandpa decided enough was enough.  I’m so happy to be reunited.  It used to be my dad’s, but when he got a new one and tried to sell it in a garage sale, I was like, “Heck no!!! Imma pay for it.”  It has moved almost everywhere with me.  It will be one of those pieces of furniture people look at and say, “What the heck is this doing here?  It’s shabby and matches nothing!!”  And I’m going to say, “Dude don’t hate.”  It’s squeaky, slightly broken, and a little worn, but I love it.  It still rocks (though with some noise), still reclines (sometimes I sleep in it), still is the most comfortable thing to sit in in the whole house (but I’m so protective only I am allowed to sit in it), and it is Cowboys’ colors (navy blue).  What’s there to hate?

The weekend we moved in the girls were at their dad’s in Amarillo.  It was nice moving day to not have to worry about three little ones messing with stuff as it came out of the boxes or getting in the way of you carrying something really big and you running into them.  But, when I got our room all put together (the first one in the house) I wanted to be able to look at Trinity and be like, “What, what?!?!?”  It was really kind of lonely the first night here.  I ended up sleeping on the floor of Kennedy’s room.  Our beds wouldn’t be put together until the next day so we were just sleeping on mattresses anyways.  On top of that, we didn’t have any night lights or anything, which she hates, and I had gotten used to having someone else sleeping in the room.  So, I slept on the floor.

The girls are here now, though they will be gone this weekend and I feel as if I may end up on Zoe’s bed while they are gone.  We have gotten most of our stuff out of the old house now, and it’s starting to all come together really nicely.  The best part is I know where everything is because I helped unpack most of it.  I had to quit my job at the clothing store, which really sucks because I loved that job.  But, last Friday Kennedy and I went into town and the theater was hiring.  A sign from God.  I hope so anyway.  I love movies and popcorn and sodas that taste nothing like normal sodas.  I still have no idea what I’m going to do with my life.  I have entertained the idea of becoming an MMA fighter and opening my own theater and being an undercover cop taking down the drug lords of the Dallas/Fort Worth area.  Who knows?  I know I need moola though.  Please God, give me this job.  And internet access.

Two weeks–

Well, now it has been a couple of days and there is STILL no internet access.  I think I’m about to go bonkers.  Forget this long, rambling blog post; this post has become my slow death by lack of technology and instant gratification.  Gone are the days when I can sit and dream of being a trapeze artist for a whole three seconds, until I realize how completely stupid trapeze artists are.  Gone are the days when I can look online for the answers to my sister’s quizzes and homework because I forget what ionization even means, much less how to write it down on paper intelligibly.  Gone are the days when I can listen to music for hours on Grooveshark and then promptly freak out because it made my computer get a horrible virus.  It’s like a ruptured appendix to your computer.  I only feel as if it is right to warn you before my untimely death.  No longer can I sit in my rocking chair and look up videos of people vigorously exercising and read advice on the best diet and get motivated enough to plug my computer in so it won’t die.  Because if it died I wouldn’t be able to watch more exercise videos.  And then I wouldn’t laugh.  And that would be a cold day in Juuuuuulllyyyyyyyyy!!!!

And, as I come to this slow death, it is time to admit a fantasy I have been entertaining recently.  Or a few actually.

Scene!!!  There is a drug deal going down, but everyone there knows that it will go wrong.  Tony doesn’t have the money.  He’s going to try and steal the goods.  You see the guns in each of the gangs’ wastebands.  There is tension building.  They all start getting a little heated; it comes to a roar when….. BAM!!!!  The most fearsome gangster in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area shows up.  She has amazing hair, awesome Nikes, and moves like Jagger.  “This is my territory, brothas.”  Next thing you know, SNAP, CRACKLE, POP!!!!  They are all on the ground.  GASP!!! Are they dead?  No, she’s cool like Batman.  No killing here tonight.  She’s on a diet.  She dials 911 with her gloved hands on one of the gangsta’s phones.  She drops the phone and a little red envelope.  She disappears into the night, only a legend to some, but real enough to clear the streets of gang violence and speak to your children in the elementary schools about why drugs are bad.  And alcohol too.

Scene!!!! Blood flying from a mouth; the jaw has been dislocated.  But how could this be?!?!  He’s a five-time heavy-weight UFC champion.  And he’s getting poned by a five-foot-three, red headed girl with a mean ol’ one-two.  Oh, this is rich!!! Who would’ve imagined a fight like this??  Small town girl with only six weeks of training, taking on a heavy-weight champ like this?  I see Monster sponsorships, some Dallas Cowboy season tickets, a certain yahtzee boyfriend in this girl’s future.  No one will mess with her.  In fact, she advocates for improvement in the standards of the public school system, and no one tells her no.

Scene!!! She started out as a small-time cop.  Now she is a big-time detective.  They put her name in the sky when it becomes too much for the regular cops anymore.  She has solved more murders than the great detective Shawn Spencer himself.  In fact, Shawn Spencer now claims to have trained under her.  She visits the high schools to inform and recruit for the local PD.  She gets a standing ovation every time.

I don’t know who this mysterious girl is.  But her hair is amazing.  And I think we really have a lot in common with each other.

In other news, I have started to write my first book.  Actually, I’m sort of writing two books at once.  Kennedy and I are writing a self-help book for all you people out there who aren’t perfect.  It’s called The Narcissist’s Self-Help.  Our collaboration, with a foreword by Nathan means it will be sold out before it even hits the shelves.  The other book I’m writing is more like a novel.  BASICALLY, I read a tweet from some random person I don’t actually know but somehow ended up on my twitter log…. anyhoo, it called for someone to write a novel in which the writer slowly falls in love with the reader.  So, I’m rising to the occasion.  It’s actually really stupid of me to try and write something so complicated and intricate on my first try, but I’m looking forward to seeing how it comes out none the less.  I’ve got some good ideas.  It’s just implementing them that’s the hard part.  I’ve actually come up with a couple of other ideas for books that I may try later.  I guess I’ll have to see how these first couple of books goes.  Right now, I’m writing them more for the fun of it, but you never know.  Maybe someone will actually like them.  And if not, maybe I’ll self-publish just for the fun of it.

It’s about two in the morning right now.  I made a last minute trap up to the panhandle tonight.  I enjoy driving, but it was a long trip all the same.  And I was drinking lots of coffee to make sure I stayed awake, so now my mind is going a million miles an hour and wants to do all sorts of things, but my eyes and body are telling me to shut it down.  I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bring my computer charger, so I’ll have to shut my computer off at some point.

I’m also having some trouble relaxing because I made plans to see my dad tomorrow.  It’s going to be the first time I’ve seen them since our big fight with my books and stuff.  I just realized I forget Nick and Dani’s Christmas presents though.  Which is really ironic because I actually made a packing checklist so I wouldn’t forget those exact things specifically.  I made the checklist and didn’t use it.  Amazing.  I digress… I don’t plan on staying long.  I’ll probably only visit for a few minutes.  Good news!!! They found the rest of my books.  At my suggestion (because I was really angry about having to start my collection all over again), they checked out the attic to see if there was any of my stuff that got put up there and forgotten about.  Guess what?!?  There was a whole six boxes full of stuff.  Mostly books.  And, my dad actually apologized.  What?!?  Anyways, I’m not sure where I’m going to put these six boxes of books in mine and Trinity’s room, but I’m so stoked that I am finally going to be reunited with my books.  I need a bookshelf.  Or two.

I’m going to go write a novel and fall in love now.  Maybe next time I get on my computer it will be to post this online so ya’ll won’t die.  This is already 2, 331 words.  Oh, dear.

Two and a half weeks—

I’m going to die.  Who would’ve thought that going only a couple of weeks without internet could be so devastating?  I think I’m going to have to be admitted soon.  I’m running out of things to do on my computer.  I made an account for Nathan on here, even though he barely uses my computer.  I’ve started writing multiple books.  I made folders within folders, within folders, which are sometimes within folders.  Everything is so organized, it’s almost impossible to figure out where everything is!!!  Unless you’re me.  So I guess it’s okay.  All the same though…. I can’t do anything more on my computer.  INTERNET.

Anyhoo, I’ll tell Microsoft Word about my weekend and hope it eventually reaches my readers’ eyes.  If ya’ll are still there.  Ooh!!!  I can add ya’ll to my computer’s dictionary!!  Yesssss.  But, this weekend.  Right.  So, like I mentioned a few days ago (a few paragraphs ago to you), I went to go pick up the girls from their dad’s again.  I stayed with my cousin, who’s awesome and has a really cute baby.  We hung out/talked for a little while.  It had been quite some time since we had last seen each other, so there was quite a bit of talking to do.  We can text, but it’s not quite the same.  So, she told me about Harlow and changing majors from becoming a lawyer’s assistant to welding.  I told her about moving, and quitting, and writing, and sleeping…. Just kidding.  I did tell her that I had been thinking about moving down that direction to go to school at Frank-Phillips for welding.  I had considered it before I enlisted, and I still really liked the idea.  I know you are probably thinking we are the weirdest girls ever, but basically you’ve never lived until you’ve welded.  My grandpa is the awesomest man in the world.  He’s a welder.  A really good one.  He actually teaches the classes at the college now.  When I was thinking about doing welding, I went to go visit the college and one of the students he has taught me some stuff.  It was so fun.  I really enjoyed it, but I let people talk me out of it.  Something about it being dangerous and what not.  So I joined the army.  I digress, my grandpa’s really cool and I had been thinking about going to his college to get my welding certification.  So, we started talking about me staying with her.  Well, she mentioned it to me and I got really happy because I have really awesome cousins and aunt and papa and I was thinking about just staying in a dorm.  I haven’t fully made up my mind, but I’m pretty sure it’s what I’m going to do.

I’ve been really wishy-washy on the whole get-a-life-thing.  I haven’t been able to come to a conclusion about what I want to do.  I really liked the idea of finally becoming a welder.  It has been in the back of my mind, really, since I became discharged.  I don’t know why it has been taking me so long to get my butt in gear and moving.  I’ve been scared of failure for sure.  Who isn’t?  I think I have more issues with the idea of non-perfection than the normal person though.  Also, I have been feeling really guilty recently.  Well, for the past few months.  I want to move on with my life, call the mistakes I’ve made mistakes and keep on truckin’… but it’s been hard for me to do.  I don’t want to leave my family in Dallas because they say I’m such a help.  Mom says she can cope without me, they’ve done it before, but I feel like we’re barely coping right now.  I don’t feel like I’ve done too much, but I don’t want to cause harm.  I almost feel an unspoken pressure to go to college down here, get a job down here, stay down here to be ready to help.  Obviously, no one has said that.  It’s just something my mind has been telling me I need to do, but I don’t want to.  It doesn’t feel right.  I love Dallas.  And I definitely want to live here someday.  But, maybe now isn’t the right time to do so.

I was talking to Kennedy and Nathan about it yesterday.  It’s amazing that they are younger than me and already so wise.  I think they are just unbiased actually.  And don’t have mental issues.  I was telling them how I think it’s wrong for me to just leave and go to college.  They both snorted and started talking, trying to tell me the exact same thing. “It’s what people do.  It’s what I’m going to do.  People leave to go to college all the time.”  And I guess they’re right.  People do leave to go to college.  Why should I be any different?  Kennedy said I go at life with the attitude that I’ve already screwed up my chance, but that I need to realize I can get that back.  I’m just making it harder on myself by putting it off.

Phew, I know you guys wish you had younger siblings that wise.  Obviously, I’m not going to just make the decision based on what my younger siblings say.  I love them, and they are too smart to be related to me, but they are my younger siblings and I have standards.  Just kidding.  What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t make my decision based solely on what they told me.  After and before talking to them I have realized that, recently especially, I have made a lot of decisions based on wanting people to be happy.  And, a lot of the times I don’t feel as happy.  In my head, it’s selfish to put yourself anywhere but last.  It’s selfish to complain about your lot.  For me, especially so since I’m the one that got me where I was.  But, I think it’s time for me to be a little selfish I guess.  Because BASICALLY if I don’t, I’ll be one of those old ladies with 29 cats and no one to talk to.  I’ve been living through my writings and hearing about other people’s lives.  And it’s pretty pathetic.  So, I’m making a decision.  To be happy and enjoy what I’m doing.  To not be the lady with 29 cats, because I would have to take 29 Zyrtecs a day to cope.

On Facebook, I’ve been seeing my friends trying out for the Voice and hosting events, talking about their college discussions and homework, and in the case of one of my friends, scuba diving.  (Yes, I have more than one friend trying out for the Voice.  Ironically, neither of them were in choir.)  And it sucked.  And I’m tired of it sucking.  I look forward to the day when I can post, “Suckers!!!  Got my welding license!!! What?!!?”  Also it would be nice to say that I’ve published some books and stuff like that.  My sister and I have been messing around with some sound programs too.  And I guess since I’m in choir I should actually sing Mary Had a Little Lamb or something for YouTube.  I’ll turn it into a heavy metal song.

Oh, I got way off track.  So, anyway, Shelby (my cousin) and I talked about that stuff.  Then I went to go see my dad.  My stepmom stayed in the kitchen and made sure not to look at me.  My dad helped me load my books into the car and we chatted some.  I was so excited to get my books!!!  Nick and Dani had really grown up!  They were so tall.  I got the date of Dani’s dance recital and I’m hoping I can make it, especially since it may be her last one.  The visit was surprisingly nonstressful.  For the most part, Dad asked about college and I accidentally mentioned I had been thinking of moving closer, but it smoothed over well.  He mentioned he wanted to see me more.  And it was nice talking to my brother and sister again.  I’ve certainly missed them.  I think if we avoid the big topics, we’ll be alright.  Maybe.  Fingers crossed because I’m kind of getting tired of fighting.  And it’s like Kennedy told me at least four times yesterday, I get grumpy when I’m tired.  And when I don’t have internet access.  I’m going to go find a crime show to watch or something….. (3,769 words.)

Three Weeks–

It’s finally happened!!  A really attractive, sweet man gave me the gift of internet.  Thanks if you made it this far!!!! I think I’ve got half of my novel done!!  (3795 words)

An Old High School Essay

In junior year AP English class, we studied the Scarlet Letter.  Afterwards, we had to come up with our own letter that we thought represented us and write a short essay about why we felt that way.  We also had to make a physical representation of the letter.  Actually make what it would like sort of.  Here’s the essay I wrote, including the short description I included of my letter.  I’m not changing the puncuation, because depite what my teacher says, I think it’s just dandy.

F

Some people say I’m smart; some say I’m stupid.  Some people say I’m fun; some say I’m “cantankerous”.  Oftentimes, it’s because of my obsession with football.  I’m football smart.  I’m stupid because I like football so much.  I’m fun because I understand football and can actually talk football.  I’m fun because I think others can follow my football talk.  I’m cantankerous (annoying to deal with) because of my football obsession.  Ask someone my name and you’ll get: “Britt-the Cowboys fan” or “Britt-the football fanatic”.  That’s who I am.  Football (sadly) controls my moods.  Football interests me in ways nothing else can.  People say I’m obsessive, but don’t we all have something we’re obsessive about?  Mine is football.  The fact I’m so open about it makes me open to ridicule and laughter.  You could put a scarlet letter on me but there’s really no need.  I talk football; I walk football; heck, if football were a food I’d eat it any way it came.  I can relax talking about football, about my favorite Miles Austin, my favorite team the Boys, my rivals of the NFC, my least favorite rules or penalties.  I love the way the turf looks with the clean white lines making the yards.  I love the sounds of plastic hitting platic during a tackle.  I love the smells of popcorn and sweat and sticky-sweet Coke of the games.  My spirit goes up and down with the teams.  My heart speeds up and the adrenaline pumps.  During offseason, I’m like a dormant bear — waiting to be awakened anew by the sweet promise of victory and a good long war.  I hold grudges against other teams and their fans.  Forget the 13th admendment, all Philidelphia Eagles fans should be slaves.  I enjoy the betting, the gambling, the rush of every game.  I enjoy arguing that my team is the best.  It is.  When players hurt, I hurt; I cry.  When players are mad, I’m mad; I yell.  When players are happy, I’m happy; I dance and laugh.  Sometimes I feel guilty about how much my life is devoted to football.  But I need a place for my passion and frustrations to go.  Football is the place I can let go.  Football is the place I feel comfortable in no matter what.  I am football.  (Go Cowboys.)

My letter is black on one side because sometimes football consumes my life leaving no room for anything else.  The other side of my letter is blue, bright blue, because football gives me joy and helps me enjoy life.  Also, blue is the Cowboys’ color.  My letter is small and simple because it is really not necessary; everyone know I love football.  I chose to hang it around my Miles Austin bear because he is my favorite player on my favorite team of my favorite sport.

Wow, I seriously needed some puncuation lessons.  My writing sounds so cavemen-like.  There was no made up wordiness.  Barely any commas to the top.  Altogether, very childish.  Thank God for English teachers.  Whaaaaat.

 

Give Me Some Credit

So, today I decided to do this fast thing.  Basically you eat nothing and drink this disgusting lemonade mixture and laxative teas to wash all the crap out of your system and yada yada yahoo….  I did it over the summer for a short period of time before giving up in favor of mac and cheese.  Four days without food is hard people.  And you are supposed to do it for like a ten day minimum.  Some people have even done it for 40 days.  One chick thinks it cured her of cancer.  Surely I can do the minimum right?  So I started out this morning with the salt water flush.  You drink a liter of salt water really fast and it makes go to the bathroom.  A LOT.  Except, I didn’t drink it fast enough.  I got right down to the last few gulps and…. blew chunks.  So, I brushed my teeth and drank a laxative, crap-tasting tea instead.  After a couple of hours I drank the foul lemonade, and got a major headache and heartburn.  A couple of hours later, I chugged down two more servings of the poison in order to finish in time to go house-hunting with my parents and Trinity.  BASICALLY, after going seven hours of intermittent puking, nausea, headaches, and heartburn (my least favorite) I gave up and ate some mac and cheese from Cracker Barrel.  And shrimp.  And biscuits.  And okra. And maybe some mashed potatoes.  My mom laughed and said, “Wow.  You made it a whole, what?, five hours?”  No, Mother.  Seven.  Seven.  That’s a lot for my attention span.  And stomach span.  And taste span.  And mind span.  I’m kind of hungry now.

I digress, as I mentioned above,  we went house-hunting today.  We being my mom, dad, Trinity, and me.  There were some houses my parents had found online that they wanted to look at by Denton.  ANNNNNNNNNNNNDDDD… WE HAVE A WINNER!!!!

There was this really pretty portable home found on the edge of town.  Now, I’m sure most of you don’t think of portable homes as pretty or exciting and what-not.  But, I fell in love with it the second I saw it.  Trinity kept trying to tell us it was super old (and hence unlivable).  But, even just looking around outside I started to get excited and hopeful.  There was a big yard in the front and the back.  And I just loved it for some reason.  The house and I, we zinged you can say.  And we hadn’t even seen the inside.  Which was awesome and in amazing shape.

My grandmother on my dad’s side (biological dad that is) lived in a portable town as well.  They lived outside of a small New Mexico town called Tucumcari.  Off of old Route 66.  I spent a lot of time there, and when I can get away with it, I say I mostly grew up there.  Most of my memories from my childhood are at that house.  There was an ostrich ranch just across the street from behind her house.  They had loads of land.  There were fruit trees, snake holes, and chicken eggs all over the place.  My grandma used to sit me down in the front yard in my own little lawn chair, pull her chair up beside me, and say, “Let’s sit and see how many big trucks go by on the highway.  You can see it all the way out there.  See?”  And I’d start counting how many semis go by the highway, way out there.  Sometimes I’d be playing in the yard, and grandma would come out and tell me to chase off Jesse’s darn goats that were eating up her grass again.  I’d go get the broom and run out there determined to get those darn goats.  I’d get over the fence that separated what I liked to call the grove from the rest of the front yard.  I would start sneaking (or what I thought I was sneaking) towards the goats, broom in hand, only to run back towards the safety of my grandma when I got halfway there.  She would laugh and tell me it’s okay.  She would tell Jesse herself.

Whenever my grandpa came home from work (he was a truck driver), he would take my grandma and me out to eat at a Mexican restaurant called El Torro.  I would always get the tacos.  And grandpa would get us all sopapillas afterwards.  Anytime my grandpa said something about going out to eat, I would say the Mexican place where I get tacos and there’s a picture of a bull on the wall.  I loved that picture.  We sat at the same table over and over.  I would look and look at that painting.  It was a simple painting that people have probably seen many times.  It was a matador brandishing a blood red cape and a bull in the background–pawing at the ground.  I remember asking about it one time and my grandma explaining the sport to me.  I thought it was so fascinating.  When we didn’t go out to eat, I could always count on my grandma having cheddar cheese (which I loved) and my grandpa’s everlasting supply of Fig Newtons.  And of course there was always the trips to the grocery store.  It was a small, simple store.  Grandpa would always let me pick out a donut to take home from there bakery.  Yup, I was spoiled.

But those weren’t the only things we went into town for.  Grandma repeatedly went in to go see her hairdresser.  I loved going with her.  I would go play with the toys she had in the corner for children, doing the same wooden bear puzzle over and over again and listening to them gossip about the lady’s partner and other going-ons of the small town.  I used to know the hairdresser’s name, as well as her son’s.  She didn’t like the lady who did the nails.  But, I remember thinking she wasn’t too bad because she did my nails for free.  I really liked the hairdresser lady too. She would do my hair in all sorts of pretty braids and buns.  I loved going into town with grandma.

Grandma had a dog named Sissy.  My parents found Sissy one night, before they had split up and everything hadn’t gone too bad yet.  She was a mutt.  She was black and white, short, and had long hair.  She was my grandma’s dog, and I loved her.  I would help my grandma brush her hair out so she wouldn’t get tangles.  I would help her feed Sissy her dog food.  The same moist dog food.  Over and over again.  But, it was all Sissy would eat.  She was spoiled too.  When my grandmother couldn’t take care of Sissy anymore she became my dog.  She was around for just about as long as I was.  I loved taking care of her, and all the time I think about it, I wish I had tried harder to keep her inside to take care of her.  She died of old age.  My brother went out one afternoon and called me over.  I still cry.

My grandpa had a horse and a couple of dogs.  I don’t remember much about the dogs.  Just that they caught hold of a stray cat one time and grandpa literally had to pick the intestines of the cat up and go throw it away while my cousins and I gaped.  The horse I do remember though.  I loved helping grandpa feed her.  She was a pretty dappled silver horse named Shadow.  She was the last horse left.  Grandpa used to have a lot more.  There was a lot of room at the stables for more, but dad said Grandpa had either sold the rest or they had died.  I remember my grandpa letting me ride Shadow one time.  I was wearing my old cowboy hat with a bird feather sticking out of it that I had found playing outside.  I remember him smiling and speaking softly, giving me instructions on how to hold her and how to sit.  She was around for the longest time, then one summer she just wasn’t.

Most summers I would spend a week with my grandparents by myself.  Then over the weekend, the family would gather together.  Not only would my dad and stepmom come, but so would my cousins and aunts and uncles.  Most of them anyway.  I remember four cousins, though I know I have more, Marco, Austin, Ashley, and Maria.  Maria and Ashley were quite a bit older than Marco, Austin, and me.  Whenever us five got together there ended up being a definite separation between us and them.  They would go off on walks and just talk.  Us younger three though, we were the cool ones.  We would be superheroes and spy on them from behind grandpas trailer, and go around throwing rocks at all the eggs to break them (under Grandma’s blessing, she didn’t want those chickens around), and playing in the old, rusted trough.  They were so lame for just walking around wanting to talk.  We knew where the action was.

Grandpa gave us all Ferbies when we were young.  I had quite a few at one point, but I’m not sure what all happened to them.  He would also give us those little Techron cars that you could get at those gas stations.  My cousins and I would play with those all the time.  Marco, Austin, and I would anyway.  My favorite part of playing with my Ferbie was feeding it.  I loved the face it made when I pushed it’s little pink tongue down.

As I get older I see the resemblence between my grandma and me more and more.  She loved listening to Elvis Presely.  She would put her old records on and clean the house as I sat in her rocker chair.  Now, I love listening to Elvis.  There has yet to be a time when Elvis couldn’t make me feel better.  Grandma also loved for me to play Phantom of the Opera for her on my cd player; I now know every song by heart.  Grandma had an extensive collection of Native American decorations, porcelain dolls, and those stuffed bears you could buy at a department store at the end of the year, the ones with the year printed on its foot.  While my collections are no where near as extensive as hers had been, I do enjoy them and recall them fondly.  Something that wasn’t passed down that I wished was, my grandmother painted.  She had a couple of paintings she had done framed around the house, I have never been that talented.

My grandpa died when I was very young.  He was a hopeless smoker.  Even when he got put on an oxygen tank, he kept right on smoking.  I remember only a few details about him.  I remember one particular shirt he wore.  It was a blue and black plaid cowboy shirt.  He always wore dark, Wrangler-looking jeans.  When he came home, he would sit in the same chair at the kitchen table, on the end where he could see into the living room.  He would put his boots by the cabinet Grandma kept her dolls in.  I remember sitting in his lap and him telling me he had a snake in his boots.  I also remember going and looking in.  When he didn’t sit at the end of the table he would sit in his rocker and watch TV with Grandma and me.

I didn’t watch TV too often when I was there.  I enjoyed playing with my toys outside.  But, there were some shows we watched every day, when Sissy and the cat didn’t accidentally meet in front of the TV and start barking and hissing.  Every afternoon we would watch Madeleine and Wheel of Fortune.  I would then entertain myself untl the news was over.  The All in the Family came on.  I looked forward to watching the show.  I thought it was funny.  I would sit in the middle of the floor and watch it, even singing along with the theme song.  Grandma was also the one who introduced to the rest of those old shows later on in life, shows like I Love Lucy, Happy Days, and I Dream of Jeannie.  “Archieeeee!!!!”

I don’t remember the name of the cat anymore, but grandpa had one.  She mainly just sat in a chair seat underneath the table and avoided human company.

I remember one time my grandpa and grandma taking me fishing in Chama.  Grandma loved the color the leaves turned during fall.

They also took me on the train ride that went to Colorado.  The Cumbres and Toltec Railroad.  It took you on a scenic tour.  There was a big bear that would stand outside and wave at everybody while wearing a striped conductor’s uniform.  Grandpa got me a train whistle as a souvenir.

When I got older and couldn’t go visit them as often they started coming down to visit me.  They would always bring a gift of some sort.  One time they brought me a Barbie Jeep to drive around.  We only got rid of it a couple of years ago.  Every time they came down, they would take my dad, stepmom, and me out to eat at Furr’s.  I think it was one of my Grandpa’s favorite places to eat.  On the way there Grandma would always ask me what I was going to get.  I would say, “The same thing I always get, Grandma.  Fried chicken leg, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, bread, jello, and pie.”  And I would.

Sometimes Grandma, Grandpa, or both would come and pick me up straight from daycare and take me to Tucumcari.  If it was just Grandma, she would come in her car and make me sit in the back.  If they both came, or just Grandpa, they would come in his big red truck.  I remember they would have pens in the front with my grandpa’s name on them.  I used to be confused because some of them said Bobby and some said Bob and I thought they were different names.  Grandma and Grandpa loved to listen to the country radio station.  There was one particular song that was popular back then.  I remember always singing along to it when it came on, sometimes Grandma joining along.  I don’t remember how it goes now, and I wish I did.  I know it has something to do with a man counting the reasons why he loves a girl or something like that.

I apologize for the rambling memories. Sometimes they just pound me over and over again.  I think I’m scared that if I don’t put them somewhere, the memories of Bobby and Shirley Beth Lowry, they’ll keep fading and disappear.  And quite frankly, it’s the favorite part of my life.  I can’t lose them.  So I guess what I’m saying is, if you’ve read this far, all 2510 words, thanks.  But I guess this was more for me than you.

Home, sweet home.

Phatt’s Night Out

Before I get into the amazing, harebrained night my siblings and I had, I would like to make a quick update.  Remember in my last post how I said I wouldn’t be able to reenlist even if I wanted to because we couldn’t have all the adults in our new apartment being full-time students?  Well, turns out the family’s income is too much to qualify anyways.  Which of course means that we won’t be moving there anymore; which of course means I won’t be put in that situation.  When I heard that today, I couldn’t help but ask God what he’s playing at.  And maybe a couple more signs at where I should be going within the next few months.  But, it’s like I’ve always said:  Don’t eat the last marshmallow.

With that said, on to the fun stuff.  Every Friday night in our family is considered family night.  Of course, we have to behave ourselves.  For the past month or so, my brother and I have gone to the dollar theatre to watch a movie, occasionally with Hannah coming with.  Hannah used to go with us all the time we went to the theatre, but recently she had been showing interest in going and then backing out saying she was tired, or didn’t feel good, or didn’t want to see the movie.  Tonight, however, Hannah came.  And it was amazing.  It felt like reuniting.  I’m sure you’re wondering about the whole Phatts-thing.  Well, the youngest three are called the Stooges.  And us older three are called the Phatts.  It’s kind of childish if you stop to think about it.  A 13, 15, and 19 year old, giving themselves a nickname…. A kind of lame one at that, but that’s why you’re not supposed to think about it at all.  Because if you keep thinking about it, you realize how much of a child I really am, and I’m one of those people that just doesn’t really grow up.  So quit thinking right now.  Right now.

I digress.  Phatt’s reunitation!!!!  I was super excited when Hannah showed interest in coming in the first place.  She’s been grounded recently, and neither she nor I was sure whether or not she could come.  But, because we have smart and sympathetic parents, she was indeed allowed to be in my custody for a couple of hours to come with us.  And even if she changed her mind and decided she didn’t want to come, I probably would have dragged her out the door anyway.  She has been way too reclusive for my liking.  But, thank God, she came of her own will.

So, the Phatts went off to the theater singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of our lungs.  Vibrating the glass with our awesomeness.  Well, Hannah and I sang.  Nathaniel watched in awe, and maybe a little fear.  After getting there on time to actually see the beginning of the movie for the first time EVER, we watched Hotel Transylvania.  Which was hilarious by the way.  And as I told by brother, “five times” according to him, it has one of my dream casts.  Definitely one for all ages that you just have to see.  It was great to see Hannah laughing at something besides me falling because I wore socks.

After the movie, we got back in the car (as most people do after walking out of the theater) and cranked up the music.  As we are driving down the theater, we start dancing and singing along.  At one point we were even bobbing our head in a sychronized way.  (No worries you grown-up people, I kept my hands on the steering wheel.)  Then we come to the stop light.  And I take the opportunity of a red light to look towards Hannah and sing my heart out and dance my heart out to some really stupid song with no real meaning, only to have the guy stopped next to us in a minivan start staring at me.  At which point, Hannah turns around–guess she wanted to see what I was looking/laughing at–and I really ham it up.  I go wild and smile real big for him.  I sort of hoped he would start dancing too.  But he just kept staring.  So I faced the front and sang and dance at the stop light in hopes I would make it turn green instead.

So, there are a few things that you can take away from this story tonight.

1. The Phatts are unstoppable and will cause spotaneous awesomeness and joy where ever we go.  As long as we are complete with all three parts.
2. I cannot be in a car with my sister without getting really hyper.
3. If you see a strange, young, attractive woman dancing and singing and smiling:  humor her, dang it.
4. Nathaniel does not sing anything outside of the word “pinecone”.  (And it makes me chuckle and giggle.)
5. Hannah is the battery of the Phatts.
6. Brittany is the of _______ the Phatts.
7. Nathaniel is the _______ of the Phatts.

Feel free to fill in the blanks.  Feel free to dance and sing spotaneously.  Feel free to spread your joy with the random strangers around you.  And feel free to be a child.

Toodles, poodles.

As Nathaniel always says, “Banana.”

Decisions Arising

As the new year comes around, I realize how close it is to March.  I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before, and if I have it’s been a while anyways, but I am eligible to reenlist in the Army in March.  For the past month, I thought I had made my decision and decided that the Army was not for me.  But, as the date gets closer and closer I find myself thinking about it more and more.  If I could just get a few health things worked out (*ahemloseweightahem*) and maybe a temp living situation in Amarillo, I could easily do it.

But, I have reservations about it, of course.  It seems like anything I decide I have reservations about.  Including which socks I should wear.  No lie people.  I think I’m really scared that something will happen like last time and I won’t have a place to go again.  I don’t want to end up stuck in Amarillo.  Especially not Canyon.  And… well, that’s basically all my reservations right there.  I’m scared.

I have looked into college while I’ve been in Dallas.  At one point, I was actually going to go except for the whole meningitis-shot-being-a-whole-lot-of-money-I-don’t-have-because-I’m-not-married-to-Miles-Austin-yet thing.  And I decided that I didn’t want to.

Oh, I just thought of something.  We’re moving into apartments where not all of the adults can be full-time students.  Both of my parents are full-time students.  Crap.

But, ignoring the facts that basically just made my decision for me, I really enjoyed being around the other future soldiers and my sergeants (some were just good to look at).  I loved learning all the lingo and traditions and how to march and turn and all the commands.  I loved hearing about boot camp and stations and forts.  I loved the history.  I loved just walking into the station and hearing a loud chorus of, “Heyyyy… It’s Private LOW-ry.  Hu-up!!!”  We could insult each other and still respect each other.  My sergeant could look me in the eye and say, “You’re wrong.  You screwed up.  I’m right.”  And I would love that they could do that so confidently and be willing to explain why.  Only once was I ever yelled at, and I didn’t even mind because I knew I deserved it.  We covered each other; we partied together; we helped each other; we shot each other with nerf guns; we played ulitmate frisbee together; we ran together, went to a rodeo together, got called persistent-assholes together for our recruiting efforts…. I have never felt so  … … … at home.  Peaceable.

Sure, I know boot camp is hard.  Grueling.  They get in your face.  And I wanted it.  Yeah, it’s not all fun and games.  Your purpose is to protect America.  People die.  But, honestly, I wouldn’t mind dying around those people.  I wouldn’t mind dying with those people as my family.  Surrounded by the people who made the same commitment as me.  Even the people I couldn’t stand, I could respect.  And it went both ways.

I’m starting to think the timing was all wrong.  I just wasn’t mature enough to handle it in high school/right after I graduated.  I’m ready now to do what it takes though.  And I know I can.  A part of me has to, whether I enlist or not.  A part of me itches to go outside and run, time my pushups, learn the history.  I need to know I can do it.  I need to know that I can walk into that station in March and look my Captain in the eye and say, “I was wrong.  I screwed up.  But now I’ve fixed it, and I’m ready to go.”  To feel that companionship and pride and stability and adventure of being a part of the United States Army.

HOOAH

Sick, sick, sick

I sit here before you with my eyes watering, nose running, lips chapped, and body burning.  It sounds like hell, doesn’t it?  Mainly because it is.  It is also referred to as a cold.

I’m such a wussy when I get sick.  Probably because I hardly ever do.  So, the few times I actually do get sick, well…. Let’s just say everybody knows.  Haha.  Hopefully the modern miracles of Zyrtec, Halls, and Kleenex can fix this.  Though I think I’m about to go to the alternate medicine of homemade cough syrup.  I actually like the way it tastes.

While my body is sick, my mind is starting to clear however.  I see that I have trusted a lot of people too much and believed every word they said, refusing to see the lies.  Because of my blind trust I have come across a lot of pain and I see now how to fix it.

But, I’ve also noticed how messed up I am as well.  I keep justifying the things I’m doing saying it will benefit me now.  Never thinking about the long term.  This is good if the zombie apocalypse is upon us, but since I have had to come to face the stark reality that life will forever be un-zombied and (unfortuantely) caught up in the Kardashians, I see now it has come time for me to grow up and start realizing that while tomorrow may never come, odds are it will.  And am I really prepared for it?  I guess you could say I’ve made some resolutions after all, though most of these goals I do not want to accomplish within the next year, but as soon as possible.

Yeah, I’m crying about it too.

My last post was cut off by an unfortunate circumstance last night.  For the sake of privacy, I’ll just say my bunny died.  When something major happens to someone you love, it’s kind of weird how it makes you stop and consider things, don’t you think?  For example, after I got over my initial shock and anger of, hey my bunny died, I was started to think.  Is it my fault?  Did I unconciously provide the means or motive for such a thing?  Did I make it seem okay somehow?  Here I am thinking I told my bunny not to die enough times he wouldn’t, only to find he did anyways.  It just makes a girl stop and consider that maybe what you thought wasn’t an issue is, and maybe you contributed to that being an issue whether you wanted to or not.

When those questions arise you have to stop and think, “Should I have even been around my bunny?  If I had let it be, would it still live?”  Next thing you know I’m starting to think of all the other things I’ve been doing wrong that may or may not have been connected to my bunny.  Everything from how I eat to whether or not I need to block Cameron’s number.  All these questions and ideas start swirling around in my head, like flies–just annoying enough to make you want to kill them all.  Make them stop flying.  Make them leave you alone for good.  And like a leaky faucet, the only way that it will stop annoying you is if you grab the stupid toolbox and just fix it.

Fly numero uno: the whole Cameron situation has gotten out of hand.  For too long have I been at his beck and call.  For too long has he plagued my blog posts.  For too long has he made me look the fool.  For too long has he plagued my kingdom.  And if I’m too weak to just ignore him or say no, I’ll just make it impossible for him to even ask.  I’ll block his number.  Actually, my parents will because I don’t know how and I’d be nice to keep it that way.  That way I can’t just undo what I’ve done.

Fly Beta: My paycheck comes, and it goes just as fast.  I complain about the meningitis shot being so expensive, but in all reality, I would have had enough money to get it if I hadn’t been so careless with my finances.  Now, I’m not going to go see an Edward Jones advisor and be a crazy investment tycoon, but I could open up a savings account and start putting all of my money in there that I don’t use to pay for my bills.  Obviously you can still withdraw money from a savings account, but just the very fact that it’s in there will make me more likely to keep it there.

Fly Three: I have been relying on other people for too long.  It’s time I play my own game and do what I need to do to advance personally in my life.  Not stand sit on peoples’ coat tails and hope they’ll be able to pull along my fat butt.  The way my sister put it one time, “You’re nineteen years old, living with your mom, and your not even in college.”  Obviously I’m not in the position that I can just move out right now and be okay.  I’d end up homeless.  But I can start realizing that I can’t just stay here forever and claim I’m “trying to help out”.  At some point, if I’m not already there, I’m going to become a burden.  I do not know exactly what needs to happen, but it is something I finally realized needs to happen, and I am certainly seeking out the best plan of action.

My bunny can never come back to life, but maybe I can move on and never let something like this happen again.

The Long, Spiraling Trip

I feel you girl.

This weekend I made yet another trip to Amarillo to go get my little sisters from their dad’s where they spent most of Christmas break.  While I was looking forward to the chaos of having all eight people home again, this is probably one of those trips I would like to just tack up to depressingly disappointing and forget it.  But, since I have a lack of anything nice to say to people in general, I will just spread the depressingness.

The trip didn’t necessarily start out bad.  However, what happened before the trip certainly set the mood.  My grandmother and aunt took my mom, sister, and me to all go see Les Miserables.  While the movie was ridiculously awesome and filled with some of my favorite people (Wolverine, Bellatrix Lestrange, Little Red Riding Hood, and Princess Mia just to name a few) it was also so depressing I think my body legitimately ran out of tears.  And as I’ve menitoned before, I don’t cry.  After an unintentional teary farewell, my mom and I were on our way.

First–it took a depressingly long time to get there.  Everything seems longer when you’re in the passenger’s seat.

Secondly–turns out that Sunday is no longer the holy day of football.  No, two of the playoff games were played on Saturday.  Weird.  Unnatural.  Wrong.  Then to top of the horribleness of it all.  Not only did the freakin’ stupid Texans have to win, but so did the dumb Packers.  I hate both.  I swear to the caramel popcorn sitting in front of me, that I will blow chunks if Green Bay goes to the Super Bowl.  I will eat a goldfish if the Texans do.  Then I will blow chunks.

Thirdly–I become completely and irrevocably sick.  I was sleeping in my Meeme’s wonderful, soft bed and memory foam pillow only to wake up at 4:30 because of lack of nasal breathing.  After getting up to take a potty break and get a drink, I go back to bed only to be awoken out of the twilight zone between sleep and awareness by a text from our good friend…. Cameron.

Yeah, I’m stupid I know.  Oh, and warning, it’s about to get high-school-teenger up in here.  He called my Thursday night and we talked for a while.  He told me he wanted to see me.  And I told him I would be coming into town soon.  But, after a few more minutes he said he had to go and that he would call me back soon.  Well, he texted me while I’m sulking in my misery of Les Mis and being sick.  At five o’ clock in the morning.  I was so confused.  After telling him it was typical and to be expected of him I went to sleep.  Only to be awakened at the butt crack of dawn (8:30) by dear, lost Cameron calling me.  I was so confused I actually answered.  Then I just stared at the phone until I realized I should hang up.  Later he said he still wanted to see me (not picking up the hints), so I told him he could eat lunch with my mom and me before we headed out.  Typical Cameron-style, he didn’t show and hasn’t talked to me since then.  Why do I act like a three-year old when it comes to him?  Anyhow, I’m done.

So, tune back in people.  I also found out a couple of interesting things about my siblings while I was on my trip.  Apparently my brother has been lying to his girlfriend about being CANADIAN and that he went to Canada over winter break to go to a funeral.  As far as I know, he has never even been to Canada.  It just makes me really sad that something like that would happen.  I used to do the same thing when I was in junior high.  When my friends told me they had been to some cool place and gotten something for me, I decided to pretend I had to and would give them something from my room.  Junior high I figured out what I was doing wrong and came clear with my friends.  I told them everything.  Thank God they were understanding and forgave me.  It certainly caused a lot of trust issues between us though.  It also makes me wonder if all the stories he told me are true.  Just really sad-making.

And now I’m going to go. I have some pondering to do.