The Funny, But Not Funny, Consequence

Recently I wrote a blog post on the collaborative site my brother, sister, and I share. I rambled a little bit and talked about missing my siblings and how you shouldn’t really take what you’ve got around you for granted. In a bit of a roundabout way.

Afterwards I got a few different likes on the post, which is always a cool thing. I mean, someone just took the time to read my post and actually cared enough to like it. That’s always great. So, I went to their respective sites to check them out. Nearly all of them were self-help blogs.

I’m not really sure why I found this funny. Because any normal person wouldn’t find it so entertaining. But I found it hilarious. Actually, I probably found it funny to cover up the fact that I was annoyed. These people totally missed the mark I feel. But that’s beside the point. These people are all, “If you try super hard and do things a million times in a row, you can become a better person…. blah blah blah.” At the risk of being insulting (as if I’m not always), people like that drive me nuts.

Your own state of mind matters somewhat. But really, I can try as hard as I possibly can to be a mermaid, but it’s just not going to happen. As much as I wish and wish and wish, if I stuck my head under water and kept it there, I would not learn to breathe under water. Actually, I would die.

Sometimes people rely on themselves too much. It’s ridiculous. I’m not trying to be Negative Nancy over here, like I said earlier, power of thought is helpful to a certain point. But seriously people. Get a grip on reality. Humans are barely more than animals. We can’t just try and think ourselves into anything. Everyone needs a little help.

In conclusion, stop being so dang self-centered, people! And keep it classy.



Spam Inspiration

After feeling the need to blog but deciding you guys probably didn’t want to hear about all of my theories on cleaning house (since that’s basically what I’ve done all day), I decided to check my spam.  And I proceeded to laugh and feel entertained and laugh some more.

To the people that tell me there must be something wrong with my computer because YOUR computer won’t load my blog fast enough for you…. Well, first let me tell you that in America we have this saying.  “Patience is a virtue.”  I.e.  You need patience.  I appreciate you waiting long enough to read my blog, but really, I don’t want to hear it.  Leave the whining for you mama.  Oh, I almost forget (squirrel!!), don’t be trying to tell me how to make my blog more Google friendly.  I don’t want, nor care if my blog is “Google-friendly” or not.  IT IS WHAT IT IS.  Se lavi.

To the people that keep telling me that if I keep up the hard work, they’ll follow my blog.  What makes you think I want you to follow my blog?  I will get no satisfaction from it.  I don’t care if you’re the freaking Queen of England or whatnot.  Where does a person get off on telling someone that if they “keep up the good work” on their CREATIVE outlet–where hard work doesn’t really matter–so said person can follow them.  Follow me or not.  That’s your own business.  But don’t think I’m going to try harder to please you.  Mainly because I never try.  And if it’s hard I make up my own way to do it.

And lastly, dear people who speak to me in a foreign language that must be related to elven, I SPEAK TEXAN.  Thanks for deciphering though.  I appreciate your efforts.

Oh, people of spam.  You make my day an entertaining one for sure.I’ve never really been big on the whole “constructive criticism” thing that I’m sure ya’ll people think you’re doing.  I don’t believe there is such a thing.  There is tough love, and sugar coating.  I prefer the tough.  Unless it comes to my meat.  Then I like it nice and tender.  And juicy.  One time I had this really GOOD, juicy, tender, flavorful smoked steak.  It made me cry at its perfection.  I knew from that day on I would never be able to be a real vegetarian.  Also, a good MLT is really nice.  Where the mutton is really tender…

But, I’m getting ahead of myself.  Or behind.  I stopped to smell the roses.  I suppose you can see I ended up digressing.  But it’s only because a dinosaur bit me in the nose and I had to go on a quest to get it back.  It involved a stapler, Nolan Gerard Funk, and maybe a little bit of the bow and arrow action.  But that’s a different blog all together.

And now I can smell an even better meat cooking.  Mainly because it is the meat of mexican food that I shall put on my burrito.  You know, the meat of the Mexican variety.  So, with that I say adios.  Keep up the good work people.  Then I might follow you.  Or care.

Sounds reasonable.
Sounds reasonable.

Let’s See Where This Goes

Ever been crapped on by a bird?  I have.  Today.  ON MY FACE!!!  It’s supposed to be good luck I’ve heard.  I better be meeting the love of my life (I think we all know who that is… Johnny Depp) and win a billion bucks.  Soon.  Nothing like a little crap on your face to get you going.  The ironic part was that my sister and I were on a walk that was like, forever long.  We were trying to be healthy.  Geez nature.  Cut the ol’ gal some slack, will ya?

Talked to an old buddy today.  Turns out I’m not the only one with a crappy life.  What do ya know?  I swear…. Sometimes I think I’m so self-centered I think the world actually DOES revolve around mwah.  It’s amazing what talking to someone for a few hours can do, hearing about their troubles and shtuff.  But hey, like I heard one time on a TV show or something, if you look in the mirror and decide you don’t like what’s there, just change it.  I don’t like.  I change.  I Jane.  Whhhaat?

So, I wasn’t really sure what I was going to write about when I got on my computer tonight.  I just knew that I really wanted to write.  Then I check my email on my phone as my computer loads (technology these days) and find I got a message on my twitter account from an old high school friend telling me that someone has been blogging “nasty” things about me.  Wowie!!  That got this cold heart beating pretty fast.  I’m not sure what I could have possibly done to anybody recently that would incur such a public beating.  It’s just downright rude and mean.  It makes me want to go cry in a corner and pick up cutting again.  Ha!  I assure you, person whom I am assuming reads my blog and says nasty things about me, YOU DON’T WANT TO FIGHT ME.  I’m like a freaking quick-tempered, slightly violent, bitter-about-life-looking-for-a-fight saber toothed Spartan.  Mainly because I am.  And if his link had worked that lead me to your twitter account…. hmmmm.  But I’m not discouraged.  There are other ways to get information.  If you would just be so kind to tell me who you are, what I could have possibly done to you, and why you feel the need to do such a thing.  Hey, maybe you can work up the nerve to tell me in person.  I’d talk to you in person if I knew who you were.  But I don’t.  So save me some trouble and fess up.  And we’ll keep this all peaceable-like.  I’d say thanks for the cooperation, but I think you owe me for not even sending me a link to see my criticisms and cut downs.  I’m ready.  GIVE IT TO ME.

I’ve been wanting something purposeful to do.  Been searching for a point to prove for a while.  It’s almost rejuvanating to hear such a thing.  I was always defending some point or another in high school.  Yeah, I can still sing.  No, I’m not a creep for getting numbers stuck in my head that may or may not corelate to Dallas Cowboys.  Yeah, I got kicked out, wanna see the temper that got me there?  Now, I know I’m supposed to be the bigger man and ignore or whatever.   But, I’m getting a wee bit PISSED.  All these people thinking they can say whatever they want.  Do whatever they want with no regards to me at all.  Hmph.  Maybe I’ve allowed it to happen.  But no longer.  This new year has brought about a renewed battle in me.  I’m ready to go.  I know what I want, and I’m about at that point where I’m going to do what it takes.  I don’t need anybody making that harder on me.  Follow?  I think if anybody has any problem with me whatsoever, you can tell me strainght up.  I may get mad.  But not as mad as you just posting it somewhere and me finding out through a guy I haven’t talked to since graduation.  In fact, to make it easier, I’ll leave my contact information.  For the whole world to see.

ANYBODY WHO NEEDS TO TALK TO ME, HERE YOU GO.  Let’s avoid this from happening in the future everyone.




Please, feel free.  In the mean time people, I’ve got some research to do.  May the odds be ever in your favor.

Come at me.
Come at me.


Miles Austin’s End?

Because I can’t help myself, I have to speculate and beg about Miles Austin’s career with the Dallas Cowboys.  I’m sure you’ve all figured out by now that I am a ridiculous Miles Austin fan.  I have loved his game since he made a kick off return against the Seattle Seahawks in a PLAYOFF game, the first playoff game to have a kickoff return in the history of the club, by the way.  At the same time, he also set the record for longest kick off return: 93 yards.  He joined the Dallas Cowboys as a rookie free agent in 2006.  After setting a few records and such in the return office, he decided to breakout as a wide receiver.  Something I had been waiting for.

You see, I’m not like most of his other fans that only decided to be his fan after his Week 5 performance in 2009.  Nope.  (And I’m proud of it.)  In 2008 I wrote him a ten page letter (most of it about football).  He never replied, unfortunately.  But in my mind, it just meant he was busy working hard to be the player I knew he could be all along.  I remember telling my friends all that year at school about his stats just as a kick returner and his high school achievements and his speed and his work hardiness (I couldn’t go one blog post without making up a word.) and telling them all that he was going to be big soon.  It didn’t take long before my friends knew the name Miles Austin just like they knew the name Brett Favre, Eli Manning, and Orlando Bloom.  Then, lo and behold, next season Miles Austin went big.  And I literally cried tears of joy.  Then I promptly texted all of my friends (I had a football contacts list saved on my phone) and said, “Told you so.”  I also repeated it the next day at school in the snarkiest tone I could.  Multiple times.  To anyone who would stand still long enough for me to get the words out of my mouth.  And I’m a fast talker when I want to be.

Now, know this: I have always been a football fan.  I had to teach the game to myself because my dad never really told me how it works.  He just expected us to all shut up and not walk in front of the TV.  I loved to watch the game, even when I didn’t really know for sure what all they were doing.  Eventually I figured out what the different penalties and terms were.  Then I found myself recognizing the players’ numbers and faces.  I noticed their shoes.  One year I told my dad that Jason Witten was wearing a different style of shoe and he told me I take the meaning of fan to an obsessive level.  It’s not like I meant to really.  But when you watch these people for a minimum of three and a half hours a week (not including the highlights and interviews I watched online) you start to pick up this stuff.  My mom was just telling me a few days ago that when I was a baby, she couldn’t keep me still or quiet for longer than thiry minutes.  But when the Dallas Cowboys were on, my dad could cradle me and I’d watch the game and be quiet for the whole three hours.  I was a baby, people.  I’ve always been a football fan.  I’ve always been a Dallas Cowboys fan.  When I understood the game, I enjoyed it more.  When I saw my first Dallas Cowboys game at Cowboys Stadium, I enjoyed it even more.  When Miles Austin ran back a kick off return in a playoff game with this HUGE smile on his face, I LOVED football.  And it grew increasingly throughout the years as I started to understand more and more and see more and more.

Miles Austin was really the first player I ever really enjoyed watching.  He was like a gateway drug, too.  Next thing I knew, whenever I had spare time I was looking up stats and facts about all of the Dallas Cowboys’ players.  I remember protesting when Flozell Adams was let go (he went to the Super Bowl the next year).  I remember seeing Felix Jones majored in kinesiology and looking up that major and deciding I was really interested in the medical field (I lead the Medical Reading team to 2 Area wins and state qualifications and 1 regional win as well as getting 11th in the state in Human Growth and Development).  I remember getting bonus points on an English quiz because I filled the whole back page with stats about Miles Austin and she wanted me to be able to say all those numbers stuck in my head were useful for something (they have a usiness about them).  Junior year, I wrote evaluations of games and players and events the players did.  I printed out pictures and articles.  I made graphs of stats and analyzed percentages.  I filled a 2 1/2″ binder full of football.  Football is something I can delve in to and not have to worry about messing up.  It’s always right for me.  And if Jerry Jones and Stephen Jones and Jason Garrett decide that just because Miles Austin’s career with the Dallas Cowboys is over just because they don’t want to give him another contract, football will have done me wrong.

Miles Austin has set multiple records; he works hard; he’s not a drama queen and asking for the ball all the time; he always sees room for improvement; he was voted by the players as one of the top 100; he enjoys playing and you can see it; without the threat of him on the other side of the line, Dez may not have gotten as good as a season as he did.  Miles Austin deserves to retire a Cowboy.  Yeah, like all players, he’s got his problem areas.  I’m not saying he doesn’t.  I’m not even saying he’s the best wide receiver out there, because I know he’s not.  But I am saying that he is the player I grew up keeping track of.  He’s the player I looked up to in the best way a non-athletic teenage girl can.  And now he’s the player that if the Cowboys get rid of, I probably won’t care too much for the Cowboys’ games anymore.  It’s been evolving to become so with all the rules and guidelines they keep enforcing.  You almost can’t tackle at all it seems like.  Miles Austin leaving the Cowboys will be the last straw on the camel’s back for me.

And now that I have written one of my longest posts ever about a football player and thoroughly bored everyone, I would just like to say that I am not obsessive.  I’m not some creepy fan that really needs to be avoided at all costs.  I’ve just had to let go of everything else from my life of the past few years.  I’d like to stil be able to turn on the TV on football Sundays and watch my favorite player.  That’s all I’m getting at here really.  I wish the best to the Cowboys, unless they get rid of Miles Austin, in which case….

Good ol' days.  Let them stay!!!
Good ol’ days. Let them stay!!!

I didn’t even mean to post this tonight.  I was just going to put the title and save this as a draft for a blog post in a couple of days when I couldn’t think of anything.  But then I started reading the articles and I couldn’t help myself.  Once again, I apologize.  I’m sure this seems like overkill for normal people.

The Impending Zombie Apocalypse

What with everything that has happened within the past week of my life that has made me feel really dizzy on a daily basis, I have decided to focus on the important things.  We all know that the zombie apocalypse is happening people.  I know there will be snickers out there and nay-sayers… Ya’ll don’t understand.  And when you become a zombie, I will gracefully and mercifully stab your brainstem to prevent you from dominating the world with your nasty sock-smelling breath and jaundiced eyes.  Cuz that’s just gross, dog.

However, after some research done by some professors and doctors involved in the good ol’ CDC, that have explored the “possibility” of a pending zombie apocalypse and have come to the conclusion that the people must take the offensive.  The fully alive people that is.  That have morning breath instead.  I digress.  In case you missed the point of the beginnning of this rambling paragraph, here it is: FIGHT THE ZOMBIES.  No hiding out in your self-made-in-case-of-a-emergency basement or shelter.  No waiting for some cure.  You see, if we only kill them when they come to eat our brains and fatty (and oddly flammable) flesh, they will quickly be the only type of human left on earth.  And that would defeat the point of hiding out.  On top of that, the CDC said so itself, by the time they find the cure (if they do) it would only save a small percentage of the population.  Which sucks because if they have to cure you, you obviously would just get caught again and the whole thing would happen all over again. And ain’t nobody got time for that.  No, the best defense is a good offense.  Right Jason Garrett? (Yes, write it down people.  I just insulted my own Dallas Cowboys.) But scratch those last two sentences like a squirrel on a tree.  You don’t need just a good defense, you need a freakin’ BEAST offense.  That is why I recommend you start preparing now.

For example, you want to be prepared to be able to run long distances quickly in case you bite off a little more than you can chew.  In order to train for this I personally am going to start running multiple times a day for thirty minutes each.  Not only do your legs need to be an Olympian machine, but your body needs to be in tip top shape as well.  So you should also start some strengthening exercises.  A good friend of mine has decided that since he works at a physically laborious job, he will be good to go.  I kindly withdrew my earlier proposition to team up during the said sick event.  But if you want to get caught by an old granny that has all her brain power capable to her eating your rump, that’s your business.  I’m just gonna cut mine down to size a bit.

Secondly, you need to have the right supplies.  Keep in mind that we are taking the offensive.  So you need to be able to move around.  With that being said, one change of clothes will be enough Barbie dolls.  I personally am going to have one pair of shorts, sweatpants (cold weather), underwear, socks, one extra shirt (I have an end-of-the-world shirt), and a jacket or sweat shirt.  I will also take a hat.  Personally, there is nothing hotter than a Miles Austin-looking figure wearing a hat slaying zombies.  I shall be the female version.  Beware. (I must pause here.  I am cracking myself up.) You will want to have access to nonperishable foods that will allow you to last for quite a while.  They should be in containers that will be able to be moved quickly.  I personally am not going to wait for some skeptic to throw Ramen into a garbage bag.  Peace out, good luck, see you later.

WEAPONS            I personally have a machete and a pocket knife.  My younger brother also has a plethora of sharp objects, and having done the dishes quite often, I know exactly where all the butcher knives of the house are.  If you have a gun, that will be helpful perhaps if you come into a situation where you have to fight off twenty booger-leakers at once and you aren’t as talented as me.  Just remember, brain stem.  Otherwise you just be wastin ammo.  And sux for you, cuz I ain’t sharin.  I just went gangsta.  Otherwise, you’ll want to keep that heat simmered down.

I assume you are smart enough to plan out the rest of the major supplies you will need.  I look forward to fighting the battle with you gents.


I will be much less woman-bodybuilder and more zombie-freaking-killer.  And have cooler sunglasses than that.  I mean, c’mon chick.

For Lindsay

For Lindsay


We have been friends for much too long for any healthy person.  I’m surprised you’re not in an asylum right now from being my closest friend since we were THREE YEARS OLD.  From the very beginnning, we were rocky.  We were little kids, and my desire was to be the most-liked girl in the daycare.  I apologize for being pretentious.  As we went through elementary school and intermediate school, we grew apart but the friendship remained like an invisible string was connecting us together.  Then junior high came around and we had some classes together.  Slowly we started talking some more, then hanging out again.  By the time we were sophomores in high school, I was taking metaphoric bullets from some “friends” for you, and you and your family were my safe house to get away from my increasingly stressful home life.  Then it was senior year.

I’m sure anyone close to us could tell something happened.  You got a boyfriend, and I couldn’t help but feel as if I didn’t matter as much anymore.  My home life got more stressful than other, especially when I started working at that crappy old Sonic.  Despite the fact that we had multiple classes together, I never felt more estranged from my best friend.  I’m not going to take all the blame for it, but I know a majority of it was my fault.  We both changed a lot during senior year.  Or maybe it was just me.  Our interactions were less frequent, probably due to the fact that when we did talk it always ended with one of us snapping at the other.

I guess what I’m trying to get around to is, I’m sorry.  As I started partying with my roommates, sneaking out to hang out with my new “friends”, staying up all night just walking because I didn’t want to go back to my apartment, getting closer to Cameron, I changed beyond all recognition.  I was bitter and angry over my situation, and I did a lot of stuff I shouldn’t have because I was tired of doing the same thing over and over again only to be disappointed somehow.  I convinced myself that my new friends were better.  My new life was better.  I was more mature.  Basically, I convinced myself to be higher up than you, and I was leaving you behind.  Honestly, I was ashamed.  I had no other option but to pull away from you except lose all the self-respect I thought I had.  I’m sorry that I did.  I started going to school hungover or still drunk from a late night of drinking after work.  I quit doing my homework and almost failed the last six weeks.  I started skipping school when my hangover was too bad.  I started cutting again.  And I found out that my new friends were just using me for more income, my body and desperation, and cleaning skills.  I lost nearly all of them in the span of a couple of months.  But you had been my friend since before we started school.

When I finally realized all the crap I had put you through, all the ways I messed up our friendship, you were about to leave for college, and I still didn’t want to humble myself and say I screwed up.

My pride still won’t let me say this to your face.  But you have my email if you want to talk more personally than over a blog.  You are a beautiful girl, Lindsay.  Aaron is lucky to have you.  Your family is lucky to have you as a daughter and a sister.  I was lucky to have a friend.  You are one of the most God-fearing people I know.  You care for your family and friends.  You try to be kind; you try to always be a bigger person.  I know that no matter what you set your mind to, you will can and will get it, God willing.  All I can think to say now is this song by the Rascall Flats. I know you know it.

I hope that the days come easy and the moments pass slow,
And each road leads you where you want to go,
And if you’re faced with a choice, and you have to choose,
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.
And if one door opens to another door closed,
I hope you keep on walkin’ till you find the window,
If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile,
But more than anything, more than anything,
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,
Yeah, this, is my wish.
I hope you never look back, but ya never forget,
All the ones who love you, in the place you left,
I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,
And you help somebody every chance you get,
Oh, you find God’s grace, in every mistake,
And you always give more than you take.
But more than anything, yeah, and more than anything,
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,
Yeah, this, is my wish.
Don’t get got; do the gettin.
Love ya girl,