Nipple sucking driver

So the other day when driving (or rather not driving) in stop dead traffic, I happened to glance in my rear-view mirror and was very startled, and a bit grossed out, when I noticed the woman behind me having a drink out of a baby’s bottle. Now, I found this extremely strange considering she was in a beautiful brand-new looking convertible, and I was wondering why she couldn’t afford buying herself a water bottle at a rest stop or gas station or something instead of suckling liquid out of a plastic rubbery nipple. To be honest, I don’t care how thirsty someone is, there is no excuse for sucking your beverage out of a bottle that has a pseudo body part identical to the ones on your chest. And that brings us to another issue- what was in this bottle? Because, would she really go through the hassle of filling the bottle up with water, juice, or another beverage that an adult may enjoy consuming (perhaps it was milk – haha), or do we conclude that this woman was so thirsty that she was in fact indulging in her own child’s baby formula? Mind you, however, that in her immaculate convertible there was no sign of any baby paraphernalia – no car seat, no toys, not even a lost children’s sock… the only item that indicated she may have a child was the bottle that she was so enjoyably indulging in. And if in fact she was a lesbian, or woman who enjoyed female body parts, what would possess her to drink from a bottle, on a highway, in a convertible, in stop-dead traffic; as much of a turn on as it may be if she enjoyed that sort of thing. So, I guess the point of this little story is, don’t drink your beverage our of a baby bottle in case it grosses out the people around you… even if they are trying to mind their own business and somehow end up with their eyes glued to the rear view mirror trying to mentally come to a reasonable conclusion for your actions.

She is Strength

When she comes home at night I can hear her pull in the driveway and can imagine her sighing as she gathers her things, her purse, the mail, a water bottle, and some garbage that was tossed carelessly on the floor by her children. She shakes her head as she bends to grab the crumpled tissues and candy wrappers that litter the floor of her van, appreciating the fact that although her children begged her not to get her ‘soccer mom vehicle’, she made the right purchase and is thankful that she has something to drive. I hear her as she opens her car door, struggling to get out with her hands full, and imagine her kicking it closed behind her. She arrives at the front door and fumbles with her keys, struggling to get inside. Upon entering, I can hear her pour herself a glass of water and imagine how she closes her eyes as the cool liquid sinks to her stomach. Her shoulders slump in exhaustion, her back is tight with stress, her eyes look out the window into the yard she tries to upkeep, yet fails to keep perfect due to lack of time. I imagine her turning, her hair brushing her shoulders, as she shuts off the light above the sink. As darkness embraces her, she leaves the kitchen and walks up the stairs, smiling at the fact that her children are sleeping. She approaches the first door and quietly opens it, she walks to her son, who is sprawled out in a dead sleep. The thought of him not waking up, even if a bomb was to explode next to him, enlightens her and she grins with no one there to see her pretty smile. She then walks to the second closed door, and opens it slowly and quietly, to find her daughter fast asleep with her cell phone clasped in her hand. Prying it out of her hand and placing it on her night stand, she looks at her daughter with love. She approaches the third and last door. She once again enters silently and looks upon her eldest child. She tiptoes across the room so as not to wake the light sleeper and places a kiss gently on my cheek. She leaves the room and closes the last door behind her. She whispers a silent goodnight in the hallway before heading up to her own room. Although the time is after midnight, she still has many things to do before granting herself the privilege of sleep. She checks her email, opens the mail, pays some bills, and does tasks that normal women do during the day with their free time. She goes to the bathroom to brush her teeth and stares at the reflection looking back at her. She sighs at the wrinkles that line her face, from years of stress and worry. Sadness has permanently creased the space around her eyes, though around her mouth are creases from laughter and happiness. After brushing her teeth, she tiredly stumbles to bed and envelopes herself in her blankets. Sadly, though, the spot is empty next to her, the pillow bare with no one to kiss goodnight. She holds the teddy bear that she sleeps with close to her heart, willing it to give her comfort and fight the loneliness away. And then, clutching the stuffed animal that she shares her bed, she whispers her prayers and falls into a deep sleep. She awakes bright and early, before any of her children begin to stir, and starts her tasks for the day. She makes sure that all her children are fed and ready, after greeting them each with a kiss and cheery hello. They admire her strength, and her chipper attitude. After waving to her daughter who heads off to work, she drives her other two children where they need to go. Then she runs some errands, and heads back to the house to do chores and yard work necessary to keep her household running. She works hard, and her back aches as she does manual labor that a husband usually takes care of. She gasps as the hot sun pounds against the back of her neck and she wipes away the sweat that creeps down her forehead. She glances at her watch and is discouraged to see that it is already early afternoon, and work awaits her. She quickly cleans herself up and drives herself to work, not looking forward to having to stand for eight hours running hundreds of samples in the hospital laboratory. However, she will do anything necessary to provide for her children. After work she wearily drives home, willing herself to stay awake as she drives the windy streets. When she comes home at night I can hear her pull in the driveway and can imagine her sighing as she gathers her things, her purse, the mail, a water bottle, and some garbage that was tossed carelessly on the floor by her children…

This woman is loving. She provides and cares. She is strong. She is happy. She is my mother.

She is Success

When she wakes up in the morning she reaches out and pets her dog. A companion so faithful, so loving, so trusting. Not an early riser, she wills her eyes to open and tries to rub the sleepiness from them with hands that have worked so hard. She rolls out of bed and showers, waking herself as droplets of water stream down her naked body, still slim and taught despite her age. After showering she gets herself ready, always looking fabulous and fashionable so that everyone that sees her is jealous of her beauty. She rushes to finish getting ready, and grabs the pet that accompanies her wherever she goes. She gets into her flashy corvette and begins her drive to work. She ignores the looks that she receives from men driving past, and disregards the landscapers that hoot at her from the sidewalk. After several minutes she arrives at work, a place that she built, a place that she owns, a place that is hers. She approaches the entrance with pride, and enters the door with a smile. “Hello All,” she bellows upon entry as she greets her employees and friends with kisses. There is pride in her voice as she asks about the day’s schedule and is pleased that it will be a profitable day. The people around her respect her, are amazed at her success, and stunned by the way that she handles herself and her business. I look at her admiringly, hoping that one day I will be as successful as she, and yet still be so happy. She makes her way up to her office, stopping to greet every person in her path with a vibrant smile and excited hello. She sits at her desk and deals with the company’s problems. Makes sure that her employees are relaxed and calm, her clients are happy, and her business is running smoothly. Her constant presence in the salon ensures its success and she is involved in any issue that arises. She stays there all day, works long hours that no one would voluntarily want. She is a friend, a companion, yet the owner. Her power is obvious to all at the salon, and they respect her decisions and successes. She is there until the night is dark and doesn’t leave until the day is nearly done. She picks up her dog before leaving and departs with a bellowing “Goodnight all.” They wave and say goodbye as she exits, and she walks alone to her car. She drives herself home and gets ready for bed. There is no one there to greet her when she gets home, no one waiting to give her a kiss hello. There is no one to talk to but her beloved dog, her pet, her companion. She watches TV before sleeping, and is snuggled in her bed alone. She falls asleep and has many dreams. When she wakes up in the morning she reaches out and pets her dog. A companion so faithful, so loving, so trusting…

This woman is successful. She is confident. She is respected. She is my aunt.

Not One the Same

What impresses me is that there are billions of people in the world, each one individually different. From miniscule freckles, to DNA, to personality, to looks; not one exactly like another. This awes me for the reason that no matter how many people I meet in my lifetime, never will I be walking down the isle of a food store and come face to face with myself. Never will I partake in a conversation with someone who has the same exact personality as myself. And never will I find someone who possesses the same name, enjoys the same activities, and shares an identical reflection to the one that looks back at me in a mirror. Because in our world, and in my opinion, what makes this earth so entertaining, is that each and every living, breathing soul is different than another.

What is love?

(wrote this a while ago, it's pretty lame but i thought i'd post it anyways. haha)





Is it a whispered secret,
A shared glance,
A single dance?

Can it be companionship and company,
A joyous shared laughter,
Your heart beating faster?

Is it their breath on your neck,
A kiss on the cheek,
A feeling that makes you weak?

Could it be the touch of their body,
The feel of their skin,
An intimate feeling within?

Or is it the feeling of happiness,
A constant smile,
That lasts quite a while?

Perhaps a feeling of compassion,
A sudden unexpected caring,
No problem sharing?

Or is it that warmth when he looks at you,
Feeling seasick, even though on land,
The holding of hands?

Is it wanting to be with them once they’ve left,
Missing them when they walk out the door,
The feeling of wanting more?

Could it be all the good times,
Watching movies til late at night,
Conversations lasting til the morning light?

Perhaps it’s the yearning to share a bed,
To know that they’re there,
To feel like they care.

Do we really know what love is?
Or is it too complicated to comprehend?
Sometimes I wish it was simple, wished no one would pretend.

I wish I knew the answer,
Wish I knew sometimes what to do,
Because the question constantly remains, do I love you?

Why can't everyone live by "Do what makes you happy?"

Lots of things in life make me mad. Sometimes when things don’t go my way I get a little upset, often if someone cuts in front of me and causes a near-accident, I get a little miffed, if someone is blatantly rude to me, I will get annoyed. But one thing that makes me most mad is when people don’t consider the feelings of others and are selfish in their decisions.

Don’t get me wrong, on many occasions I find myself being selfish – whether it be eating all the good colored skittles out of the bag really fast so that no one else can enjoy them, or maybe doing a little aggressive driving myself, or even deciding what I want to do and convincing everyone that it’s the best available option because it is the activity that I came up with, therefore I think it is the most awesome. Yes, these things are all selfish, and I am guilty of them, but in general, I really try and look out for others, and my main concern is usually those around me, and especially those that I love.

This is why I am currently mad. I’m mad at my dad. I’m mad at my mom. And in retrospect, I am little pissed about life. I love life. I think that life is too short and every minute needs to be enjoyed to the fullest in case it ends abruptly. “Do what makes you happy” is the advice that I follow every day and it has never let me down. Anyways, this is why I’m currently mad at my mom and my dad.

First of all, I pride myself on getting over things very quickly. I think this ties into my “Do what makes you happy” philosophy, because if something is making me exceptionally sad, I need to get over it in order to get back to being happy, because as I just said, life’s too short.

This is why when my dad left us; I was able to move on so hastily. Originally, like the rest of my family, I was bedridden, not being able to consume food or get any rest. And after a week of this foolish behavior, I woke up one morning and asked myself what the fuck I was doing. Why was I upset over something I had no control? Why did I feel sorry for myself when my dad was the one who was missing out? I didn’t do anything that aided his decision to leave his family, so why was I sniffling and sobbing the days away (days I would never get back)? Upon this realization, I decided to move on with my life, get up and get dressed, and be there for those around me like my brother, sister, and mom.

This was the start of many issues that I have faced in my life that I have gotten over at an accelerated speed. I try and face life with a smile, and deal head on with the curve balls that it tends to throw me. I mean, not many other people can say that they have been born blue and not breathing, trampled in a fun run, stung by a scorpion, survived west Nile virus and (no surprise here) swine flu, been jumped and beat, had a rock fly through the car window and hit me while I was driving, total my car without a scratch, test positive for Lyme disease, and have a case of mitrovalve prolapse, just to name a few. I feel like the fact that I’m alive despite all these strange occurrences is reason enough to walk around with a smile on my face. And the fact that I have had all these near misses really enforces the “Do what makes you happy” lifestyle I try to lead.

So anyways, in response to my quick recovery from the shock of my dad just packing up his bags and leaving my house on a sunny October morning right before my birthday, I had to get my life in check in order to take care of those around me. Long story short, my mom was bedridden for months, and I took responsibility of my sister and brother – cared for them, cooked for them, made sure they had money for things they needed, and in general, tried to be there for them whenever they needed anything that they had no parent to turn to for.

So, that brings me to today, and the reasons why I am frustrated with both of my parents. To be honest, I would do anything for my brother and sister. If it made them happy I would do it in a second. I always wish that I had money so that I could buy them things and take them places, and allow them to be able to experience sweet things. My mom and dad don’t live by the “do what makes you happy” mentality, and instead of moving on with both of their lives, still, five years later, they torment each other, and all three of their children on a daily basis, by not giving the other person what they want. Like, come on, at this point, how old are you?! My mom would bend over backwards not to give my dad something, even if it is rightfully his, and my dad does the same; on a daily basis. And they are constantly putting us kids in the middle. Thankfully Christina and I do not take their shit at all, but Dan is constantly tormented by their never ending, “It’s my day to have him” bullshit banter. It annoys me because neither one is concerned in the least about what he wants to do.

For instance, today dad asked Dan to go to a Yankees game. Dan was of course gleeful, but his happiness was speedily crushed when mom called the principle and told him not to let Dan out of school early to go with his dad. Really mom? Was that necessary? Dad, in turn, calls Daniel and tells him to convince mom to let him go otherwise he would take Michael (his other woman’s child) to the game instead. Really dad? So, at age 16, fighting back anger and fury at both of his parents for being so immature, Daniel has to be constantly tugged around like an object and doesn’t get to go to the Yankees game. Do you think either parent thought about what he wanted before creating this whole ordeal? I think not.

So that is why I am mad at my mom, my dad, and life. Oh yea, I’m mad at life cause I wish I was rich so I could just take Dan to the Yankees game myself.

A Friendly Word of Advice

This is a blog post for the guys of this world – For the poor gentlemen who don’t know when the time is right or wrong when hitting on a fellow female. There have been countless times where I and many of my friends have been hit on, and after the fact we wonder, what the hell was that guy thinking? Hopefully this blog will help clear up a little confusion and give guys heads up when not to hit on women in certain scenarios.

When thinking about this constant annoyance that all girls face and are forced to endure, I am reminded of a time, just a few weeks ago, when I felt embarrassed for a man trying to get my attention. It was the toll booth man. Yes, that’s right, I said it, the toll booth man. The one that sits in his little booth right off the thruway exit to Buffalo; and yes, I’m sure many of you have seen him. He’s an interesting fellow, on the shorter side, with slanty eyes that seem to sink towards his uneven nose- his balding head shining in the little toll-booth light, surrounded by a bushy white knotted mess. When I approached the little window and rolled down my own I knew right off the bat that it was going to be an interesting encounter. His beedy eyes examined me with such intense perverse invasion through his thick bifocal lenses. I felt violated merely by the way he looked at me, even though I was unattractively clothed in sweatpants and baggy t-shirt. Boots didn’t like this character either, and he was meowing in protest as I handed over my ticket and the money (almost $20 freakin dollars!). “Thanks doll,” toll-booth man cooed through eneven, spaced out yellow chiclet teeth. “Ew,” was the only thing I was thinking, imagining what his breath smelled like and thanking God for providing a steady breeze between my window and his. He stared at me uncomfortably as he ran my ticket through and counted my change. “Hmmm I think a pretty girl like you should give me her number,” he said slyly with what sounded like a southern drawl. “Oh my god, really? Just give me my change.” was all I could think, but I managed to muster up a tiny chuckle. He reached out his hand to give me my change and handed it over. Our fingers brushed for a moment and he released a loud and extremely disturbing sigh, “ahhhh.” He winked. I rolled up my window, gave him my dirtiest look, and drove away at a speed that would have most certainly gotten me a ticket.

Gentlemen, this is rule number one, do not hit on a girl if you look like cotton-eyed Joe, and do not sigh loudly when your fingers touch, because, in reality, she is not holding your hand, she is taking her change. This is not a cause to jizz your pants.

Another instance that comes to mind is several months ago, when I was shopping for flea killing paraphernalia at the food store. Sadly both Charzy and Boots transformed our home into a flea breeding ground and Lindsey and Erin and I were determined not to let these little vermin ruin the homely atmosphere that envelopes Space Mountain. In an effort to ruin these fleas and destroy them completely, we decided to get flea-killing house spray and douse everything in our house with it. (It worked magically by the way. We were flea-free almost immediately.) Anyways, I was at the store looking exceptionally scrungy, having been spraying our soft surfaces all day, and was merely re-upping in the flea-spray department. While comparing prices of various pesticides, and debating on whether to purchase the gallon size, or smaller, two grimy gentlemen strolled up. One of them thought that the opening line of, “What’re ya lookin’ for there sweetheart?” would attract me to him or something since he stood there with a dumb grin on his face waiting for a response. When he didn’t get one, he continued with, “Ya look awfully pretty to be food shoppin’.” This guy was clearly unaware that I was obviously not buying food, but looking for the perfect flea extermination mechanism. How attractive. “Thanks,” I mumbled, mentally willing them to leave as silent friend number two was snickering at his really obnoxious friend. “Need help shopping?” he asked, mustering up enough courage to speak. “Nope, I know exactly what product to use to kill the fleas, thanks.” I responded, and both of them looked a little taken aback. Really men? Did you think this short-lived food store relationship was long term? I think not. Needless to say, these guys decided to end their shopping trip just when I did and stand behind me in line, trying to rekindle what they obviously thought we once had. I ignored them.

Rule number two, guys; don’t hit on girls if you’re going to be stupid while doing so. The other day the guy ringing me out at the food store was giving me googly eyes while ringing up my tampons. Really? Can you please take your eyes off my boobs and focus on what you’re ringing? Definitely not sexy. Jeez.

The other day I was on my way home from buffalo and I was inconvenienced by a bout of traffic. It was stop dead, and after five minutes of sitting and not moving a single inch, I decided to turn my car off and play with Boots for a bit. About ten minutes later, I realized that the car in front of me was filled with people – all waving at me. I was horrified to realize that about 6 faces were staring and waving at me through the rear window of a small, shitty chevy. No way, I thought, as the six Mexicans looked gleeful that they had finally gotten my attention. For the next forty five minutes, yes, I said FORTY FIVE MINUTES, all six heads were clustered around the window, waving, smiling, and blowing me kisses.

This brings me to rule number three, do not hit on girls if they have no escape route. And if she looks disgusted at your attention, stop giving it.

On Sunday I worked at the zoo. (Yes, I am still working as the snack bar girl because I’m super broke and on my days off I have nothing to do). While working, a middle aged man came up to the stand and blatantly checked me out. As if that wasn’t uncomfortable enough, he smiled as his eyes rested on my boobs, and asked me, “Can I have two wieners please?” He looked up at my face (finally) and winked. Great, I thought to myself, another dude that thinks its hilarious to call hotdogs wieners. As I handed him the dog, he leaned close and whispered, “Do you like wieners?” and winked again. Umm EW! I said, “If by wieners you mean hot dogs, then yes, I do. That will be five dollars.” Haha. I took his money and turned away.

Rule number four, don’t hit on a girl by making sexual references to food. It’s not a turn on. I am not going to start sucking on a hot dog for visual pleasure, nor am I going to wink back and tell you how much I loooove wieners. Come on now.

And lastly, I will finish this saga of a blog post with a retelling of a Victoria’s Secret experience. Last week I was in Victoria’s Secret shopping for lingerie (I have a secret obsession of buying unnecessary expensive items) and I was approached by a guy about my age who wasn’t particularly bad looking. He started checking out the lingerie too, and I thought to myself that it was so cute because he was probably shopping for his girlfriend. The thought of him being cute and shopping for his girlfriend quickly dissipated as he got closer and closer to the lingerie that I was examining until we were standing side by side. I glanced over and he was looking at me intently. He grinned and boldly asked me, “That would look really sexy on you. Want to try it on for me?” Oh, yes, sir, I always try on lingerie for random men that I meet at Victoria’s Secret. Seriously, what are you gentlemen thinking about when you ask a girl that you don’t know a question like this?!

The fifth rule is, you will get further if you don’t ask a completely inappropriate question right off the bat. I mean, in all reality, what girl is just going to gleefully try on lingerie for some dude she doesn’t know in a Vicky’s dressing room?

Now, by providing you with all of these scenarios, I am not saying that every guy is like this, or that all men are as brainless as this select few. If you hit on girls tactfully, you may get places, I’m not going to lie to you. As much as girls complain about getting hit on, it is somewhat enjoyable. It’s just a little reminder that you’re sexy and wanted. Although we moan about it to our significant other, or complain about it happening numerous times a day, deep inside we really enjoy it – if you’re not a weird-o and look somewhat cute when admiring. You all know you’ve done it, and hopefully you are smart enough to keep it controlled to that sideways glance, slight head nod, or even witty pick-up line. So that’s it boys, I hope you have learned from my storytelling, and ladies, I hope you chuckled because you all know that things like this have happened to you.

Evil Consumes

There is a dark, evil cloud around me. Its thickness suffocates me so I cannot breathe. This dark cloud slinks around my ankles and grabs at my wrists. It is a dark cloud of pure evil, consuming my every thought. It has snuck into my brain, overwhelming every other thought, distracting me from every other task. I can’t take its pressure, can’t handle its feel around me body. It follows me wherever I go, I am always aware of its presence. I want it to leave me alone. To go back to where it came from and forever leave.

It prevents me from sleep, giving me horrible nightmares, and images that I cannot even describe. I can’t handle it anymore, I feel it on me. I want it to leave me alone.

I can feel the way it slithers across my body as I lay and think about its evil. I can’t handle it anymore, I feel it on me. I want it to leave me alone.

I can feel it next to me, like a corpse, haunting my every mental contemplation. I can’t handle it anymore, I feel it on me. I want it to leave me alone.

I wish I could erase the information that invited this evil amongst us. I wish I could tell it to go away. With it here I can’t forget, I can’t handle things, I can’t seem to make myself move on. I need to do something about it. I can’t handle it anymore, I feel it on me. I want it to leave me alone.

Its disturbing nature occupies everything I do – leaving me with no thoughts for myself. It makes me angry, makes me sad, makes me want to cry and sob. As I feel it slither, feel its wickedness, feel the way it works; I need it to go, I need it to leave. Leave me alone you evil monster, so I can live my life again.

Fellow Cat Owner Encounter

So I always seem to have little adventures on my way to or from Buffalo on the lovely Thruway, and yesterday’s trip was not at all disappointing. I stopped at a rest stop somewhere near east bumble fuck and decided to get a cup of coffee. Upon exiting my vehicle, leaving poor booty looking longingly out at me as I closed the door, I was startled when I turned around and saw a hippie-looking fellow standing right next to me.

“Awww,” he sighed, “How precious.” “God, I hope he’s not talking about me,” I thought nervously as I tried to take in his unsightly appearance and decipher the dreamy look that gleamed in his eye. He looked like a ragamuffin, with greasy hair, hemp necklaces (there were four or five in a tangled mess hanging around his neck), a tie dye t-shirt with several holes in it, and cut-off jean shorts – true redneck hippie jorts. “hmmm,” I thought, trying to figure this strange character out.

As I mentally appraised his appearance, I noticed what he was focusing his attention on. Boots. He approached my car window slowly and smooshed his nose against the glass. That’s right, I am not exaggerating, I literally had an oily nose smudge left on my window when he departed.

“Oh, what a sweet little kitty you have here. My, my. How adorable,” he cooed. “How weird!” was the only thing running through my mind as I was figuring out how to deal with this hippie visitor who had an obvious infatuation with my cat.

“Can I ask you how long?” he peeled his nose from my window and looked at me intently. “How long?” I asked him, bewildered. “How long is your journey?” he was still staring at me, so focused on how I might answer. After getting past the fact that he said journey, I was like “Oh, 7 hours. I’m going from Buffalo to New Jersey.” “Fabulous!” he exclaimed excitedly. (Whatttt???)

“I have been training my cat to journey with me long distance!” he explained. “Ok?” was my response. I was still so dumbfounded by this strange encounter, especially since cat-hippie had his nose pressed back against my car window and he was moving his finger back and forth trying to get a reaction out of boots who looked very annoyed at this disturbance of his peace.

“I have been training my cat since she was a kitten,” he looked back at me again, tearing his eyes away from my feline friend. I couldn’t get past the fact at how bizarre this situation was. “One day we will drive to… California!” He was so energized, I was really still so confused.

“Well, good luck on the last leg of your journey!” hippie man said, as he waved goodbye to Boots through the car window. “And goodbye owner friend” he said, glancing at me as he began to walk away. Owner friend? “Bye,” I responded as I watched him frolic back to his Volkswagen van. He would drive that car, and scamper away like that, I thought to myself as I walked into the rest stop. How peculiar.

Afraid.

March is over. With every day that passes I get this panicky feeling in my stomach. Like the best part of my life is rapidly coming to an end. Freshman year I feel like I wasted – not appreciating the fact that I only had three more years in this wonderful college experience. Sophomore year flew by, as I partied and enjoyed friends’ company. And now here we are, finishing up as juniors, with only one precious year left. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I don’t know where I want to live. I don’t have any awesome plans for my future. And bottom line, I really don’t want to grow up.

This panicky feeling gets worse as I count down the days ‘til the end of this semester. It develops into a consuming gnaw at my stomach as I think of all the friends that will soon be graduating, some to never be seen again. And I can’t help but feel a pang of terror in knowing that a year from now I will be in their shoes, ready to take the next steps of my journey. To say goodbyes, to shed tears, and to look upon faces that I may never lay eyes on again.

They say that college is the best four years of your life, and if I could do anything, it would be to rewind to that first day of freshman year, when you pull up to that dorm building and start unloading your luggage as you begin your new life. If only I could feel that tingle in every muscle as I anticipated my roommates, and school work, and friends. As I walked up those dorm stairs for the first time, I was so scared, nearly terrified, of what might lie ahead, but not half as scared as I am now.

Crazy Time

Ok, so I'm really bad at writing poems, but I have a fever and felt like doing it cuz i'm bored so whatever. haha.


When life catches up with you and you can’t seem to spare a moment to take a deep breath,
When everything is too chaotic, and you’re missing out on what’s left.
Just take a minute, and look around, relax yourself, take a break,
Life is way too short, spare yourself some time, eat a little cake.
Enjoy the world around you, do crazy things,
Run around naked, find a fling.
Dance like you don’t care, ride with the windows down,
For your birthday this year, buy yourself a crown.
Throw a random party, enjoy time with friends,
Disregard homework, make amends.
Never put off until tomorrow, what you could do today,
Because if tomorrow comes, you don’t want to say:
Damn, I wish I had done that, if only I had tried,
If only I had done this thing, I feel like I should cry.
So therefore now, go out and do,
Something crazy, fun, and new.

I Don't Need Your Nuggets...

So today I was on my way from Buffalo to New Jersey and decided to take a little detour and stop at the rest stop to empty my bladder and grab a little snack. After comforting Boots and escaping from the vehicle without letting him escape as well, I made my way into one of New York's finest facilities. Although I was about ten percent of the rest stop's guest count, I found the bathroom in a state of utter disarray. Unfortunately, it took me like twenty tries to find a bathroom stall that was clean enough to barely pass my inspection, and eagerly changed its vacant status.

After relieving myself, I washed up (which was difficult considering the fact that the sink situation was almost as horrific as the stall situation) and decided to check out the rest stop McDonald's to curb my hunger.

As I approached the counter, the two workers eagerly perked up at the possibility of a potential customer and both employees eagerly resumed their positions at the cash registers. They both looked at me, anticipating what I might decide to order and I couldn't help but wonder why they BOTH grabbed the nearest cash register, considering that I was only one, lone customer.

As I examined the menu I was displeased to notice that this McDonald's did not have a dollar menu. Of course - the Thruway has to rob you of every available penny with $9.00 hamburgers and $5.00 bags of Twizzlers. I tried to find what I thought would be the cheapest thing on the menu - chicken nuggets. I was rudely surprised to find out that this McDonald's four piece chicken nuggets was $5.98. And the six piece nuggets were in the seven dollar range. "Ugh," I thought, debating in my head whether or not I was hungry enough to spend a dollar fifty per nugget. After a silent debate I decided that I was famished enough to splurge on this "highway robbery" (haha, get it?).

"I'll take the four piece chicken nuggets, please," I said, to neither employee in particular because I wanted to see who could type the order in the fastest. "Our smallest McNugget size is the six piece, would you like that one?" responded the employee with the huge gap between her two front teeth. I was pretty sure that I would be able to shove a whole nugget through that gap, holy crap. I immediately made the decision that I was not willing to spend an hour of my call center job's pay on a measly six nuggets and told the worker with the grand canyon sized tooth gap, "I'm not that hungry, I don't need your nuggets." She looked at me shocked, and I could see the tip of her tongue twitching between her teeth as she debated whether or not to say something. Her eyes glanced over to her quiet associate and they both silently conversed via eye contact that I was some sort of weirdo not willing to pay out the ass for six little nuggets.

I turned and made my way out of the very unaccommodating rest stop, and arrived back at the car to find a meowing Boots, who seems perturbed that I had left him alone in the car for a whole five minutes. I stopped at the gas pump and once again escaped from the vehicle without Boots. Since I was born and raised in New Jersey, I still have trouble pumping my own gas and am very irritated every time I am forced to do so, as I yearn for the little gas man to come up to my window asking what kind and how much. How unfortunate that I decided to go to school in New York, where this gas pumping treatment is nonexistent (frown). As I began pumping my gas, I somehow wedged my finger in the pump. I struggled to free my poor throbbing phalange, and was incredibly unsuccessful as gas started dripping out of the pump and onto my shoe. "Oh goodness," I thought to myself as I couldn't believe this unfortunate series of rest stop events. I finally freed my now numb finger and proceeded to finish pumping my gas. Finally I finished, placed the pump back in its proper position, and jumped back into my car. After thoroughly wiping my hands with a convenient wet-nap (I keep these germ-fighting napkins in my car specifically for gas pumping), Boots and I settled back in and continued on the last half of our journey home...

Tired of Nothing

I often wonder why things happen or what I am doing with my life or what is going to happen in my future. And unfortunately, I never have answers. I frequently ask myself what the point of life is, what we are even living for. Wake up, work hard, live for something, die. What is the purpose, where are we going? Why is it that we wake up every morning, roll out of bed, and do something that most of us don’t enjoy. Life is short, life is going to be over before we even know it. I could get run over by an out of control tractor tomorrow, I could be trampled by a fat man on his way to get donuts; I could even be bitten by a rabid cat seeking a skinny human leg. To be unhappy in these precious moments seems like a waste. When it could be gone in a year, a month, a week, a fucking hour. What are we doing? If a smile isn’t on your face, then stop. Stop what’s making you unhappy. Stop what’s making you toss and turn at night. Stop asking yourself why, or when, or how? Fucking do it. Tomorrow get out of your bed, shake the nightmares off your shoulders, walk to the bathroom and take the piss that you’ve been dying to take for the last 2 hours you were too lazy to get up out of bed and take, and wash your face, and wash away all the unhappiness. And look in the mirror and decide what YOU are going to do today to make YOU happy so that YOU can enjoy every minute of every day until YOU are able to complete the chapter of your life that leads YOU to the next so that YOU will be a happier and healthier person, ready to take on the terrible and tedious task that life is. So that you are able to succeed. So that you are able to get out of bed and to work in the morning. So that you are finally able to look at yourself in the mirror and know that you are doing everything humanly possible to ward off those terrible feelings, those horrible nightmares, the lingering feeling of loneliness. I don’t know about you, but I’m about to start living for myself and screw everything else.

Snow!

So for the past few days I have been wondering what to write on this blog, because although my journal that I started on January 1st already has like twenty thousand words, I find it strangely intimidating to write something that the whole world potentially has the opportunity to read. In thinking about these things, I have found myself procrastinating a second Blog entry, for fear that some little man in Asia who I do not know may be reading about my life and judging it, or that some creepy pervert in Massachusetts who has nothing better to do than stalk 21 year old girls from New Jersey has been eagerly awaiting a second post (not that the first one was particularly exciting or anything).

So, after coming to the conclusion that I don't care who reads this blog, and also decided that there probably is not some stalker in Massachusetts, since this blog has only received seven views, I have decided to finally write my second post. Next I had to decide what to write about... I feel strange writing about personal issues - I guess I am going to have to slowly get used to this, and I didn't really have a good topic until now...



Yes, for all my NJ friends out there, I am writing about snow. Apparently New Jersey was blessed with a white blanket of beautiful snow last night. An inch or two of pure white dusting. My facebook feed is continually being updated with statuses like "Snow day!" or "really? What's up with the snow?" or even "Ugh I hate snow!!" Personally, I think that each New Jersey-an needs to experience just a week of Buffalo winter, or better yet, maybe even just a day...



I swear, in New Jersey I don't think I am ever going to complain about the weather again. I have wanted to go shopping since Monday, but unfortunately, they don't feel the need to plow the roads of Buffalo, even though I don't think it ever stops snowing. Even if you think it has stopped snowing, in reality, if there aren't flakes falling from the sky, they are being whipped around by the stinging winds and creating drifts feet deep.

Until you've had it happen to you, you really can't fathom what it feels like to have buggers freeze in your nose... and no, I am not exaggerating, they literally freeze and you are unable to blow your nose until they thaw out. The wind seems to cut through any clothing you try and wear - no matter how many layers you decide to venture out in.



The other night I was at a party and got a little hot. I decided to step outside for a moment to cool myself off. Within minutes, where my shirt had been sweaty, it was now rock hard, frozen areas of shirt. Where my hair had been damp, it was now frozen in funky looking clumps. Pleasant, I remember thinking to myself as I tried to pony-tail my frozen hair bunches. My new frozen look was so attractive.

The other day I had to walk to class with wet hair because I didn't have time to blow dry it before leaving. By the time I got to class, and tried to tuck my hair behind my ear, I realized that my hair had completely frozen. It was as if I had taken a wig out of a freezer and stuck it on my poor, freezing head!

So, in closing, I guess what I am trying to say is, don't complain about the weather, poor New Jersey friends. It could be much worse. You could be up here with me, where it snows inches in an hour, where the roads are never plowed, where classes and work never seem to be cancelled, where twenty degree weather is a god sent, and where I can't even get to Forever 21 to buy a new outfit!



Yes, that snow bank is like ten feet tall.

(...I so wish I was in New Jersey right now! =] )

My Blog!

So for quite some time now Michelle and I have been talking about how we should start a blog and record all the funny/extreme things that happen to us in it so that everyone can see how absolutely crazy our lives are. So instead of just saying that I was going to do it, like I have been for the past year, and like I do with everything on my to-do list, I have decided to bite the bullet and start one. So here goes people, enjoy what you read... here you will find the inside scoop on Melissa, my life, and how absurdly crazy things can get! Oh, and by the way. No judgements can be made here. Only laughs and astonishments!