I'm Back For Today

Hello,

I never feel like I have much to say. I'm waiting on an MRI to find out if the bones in my hand are going necrotic. My mood is dipping again. I've been keeping track of habits on my phone and maybe it would be good for me to include blogging as one of them.

I still work in the pharmacy and for some reason everyone thinks like everything about my life is this hysterical joke. And it's like um I don't think that's funny? Then they say I'm funny especially because I don't realize how funny I am. I'm like this huge joke. They've also said they would read my blog. But I kind of hope they don't because I'd rather just be funny to them and not the dark stuff too.

That's about all the energy I have for today. I may or may not write again soon.

Short Stories and Sustenance: Guest Post

I am pleased to announce my very first guest blogger, Absent Elemental.

Absent Elemental is the pen name for the author of the blog Short Stories and Sustenance. His work primarily focuses on dark fiction, social taboos, and his love for rocky road ice cream. You can find him on Twitter @blkholesun.

Note: The following post is based on actual events. Names have been changed to protect the stupid.

I've always considered dating to be a rather awkward concept. In many cases, you end up in a poorly lit restaurant/bar/coffee shop, awkwardly staring at a person you've barely met while they talk about how their dog is the best thing in the entire world, or how their church group is going to covert numerous savage (read: non-Christian) islanders to the way of God on their next missionary trip. It's an experience that I don't see the appeal to.

Frankly, it's those very types of experiences that drew me to online dating. The major advantage to online dating is that most sites require prospective dating partners to create a profile answering questions so that you can learn more about that person before you ever meet them. About six years ago, I made my first online dating profile, and went on numerous dates with people I met online over the course of the next three years. While many were forgettable and some were decent, there were also some horror stories I went through.  I'll share two of the most ridiculous today.

One of the most common first dates for working adults is a lunch date. A couple of weeks after first talking to a girl, Mary, she and I decided to go out on a date. Both of us worked long hours, so Mary and I thought that a quick lunch at a faster restaurant would be in our best interests. We met up at a Subway near her work, ordered our food and sat beside each other in a booth.

Two or three minutes into our meal, she poked my arm with her finger. In my book, this constituted a direct attempt to flirt with me, so I returned the favor, lightly poking her arm just below the shoulder. Within seconds of my finger retreated from her shirt, she swung wildly with a vicious right hook, slugging me with all her might directly on the jaw. I jumped out of my seat in the booth, stunned at what had just happened.

“The fuck was that for?” I asked.

“I wanted to see what it would feel like for a girl to hit a guy for once,” she said, laughing hysterically every third or fourth word.

Needless to say, I left within seconds of the ordeal, leaving a once-bitten sandwich behind for her to deal with. I drove home and picked up McDonald's on the way, marking the lone time in my life that I've ever preferred McDonald's fries to the alternative.

While that may well have been the most infuriating date I ever went on thanks to online dating, it certainly wasn't the most embarrassing. That honor is (and likely forever) will be held by a date I had with a girl named Amy. Amy and I had talked online for nearly six months before we decided to have our first in person date. All things considered, she fit a lot of the qualities I was looking for in a woman. Considering how well we got along while talking online, I was cautiously optimistic about the date.

Amy and I had decided it'd be a fun first date to go putt-putt golfing before we went out to dinner. When I arrived at the putt-putt course, it became painfully apparent to me that the date with Amy wouldn't go well. Amy's pictures showed her as a young, attractive woman around my age, and all of that was technically still true when I arrived at the date. That said, apparently the pictures she'd used online were of someone else, as it wasn't until I arrived at the date that I realized that “Amy” was actually my boss, Miranda. Despite her insistence that she thought the date was still a good idea, I quickly got back in my car and left.

What's the most embarrassing dating story you have? Has anyone had an overwhelmingly good experience with a date you met online?

Best Tattoo Artist - Part Two

Alright, alright. The long awaited story. I wrote the beginning of this post back when I wrote the first part. It has also been a really long time, so forgive me if the details are way off my memory isn't perfect guys.

First of all, I stumbled across a wonderful blog entry by Bobbi Logie that made me laugh and laugh. I highly recommend checking it out if you have a dark sense of humor (as I do). There are some serious parts, but as I've learned, the easiest way to talk about serious/hard topics is by turning them into something you can laugh about.
My last therapist and I did this all the time and then it's like "wait... we're laughing about what? that's so bad." But it's just funny. For example, on my birthday we spent the entire session talking about death. Is that not funny or what? Okay, maybe you need trench humor. I think it's funny. And that's really all that matters.

Okay. Anyways. Back to my story. Well Shavon's story, really. If you have not already read part one you will probably want to before continuing (Or if it's been a really long time). Also, if you have not seen my fabulous artwork, you will definitely want to see it. You're really missing out. I digress.

Shavon and Red Hair were talking about Red Hair's sister - say Jessica. They went back and forth telling parts of the story. I have no idea who said what so I'm just going to pretend only one person said everything and will talk... type in both of their points of view. Which will probably end up more confusing than I think it will be but whatever.

After only being with him for a few weeks, Jessica's boyfriend decided she HAD to get a tattoo removed. He absolutely would not stay with her if she didn't get it covered up. So, she agreed, because they were in looove. And also engaged. I think they had been together maaybe a month? Probably not even a month. And they were engaged. Which actually isn't very surprising for her. She goes through guys like a speed reader goes through books. And they're allllways in loooove. And then they get engaged. She's been engaged more times than I can count. Probably literally. I don't remember how many times. She probably doesn't even remember how many times. "Does she keep the rings?" They're always really shitty cheap rings.

Anyways, so she makes her appointment to get this tattoo covered up. I still don't know if she even wanted it removed. And, might I add, I haven't seen her since them. So, her tattoo is still partially covered up. But I'm getting ahead of myself.... And he FREAKS out. He starts asking her all kinds of questions. Who is this lady? I don't know her. You can't have some stranger do this. It's not allowed. I needed to make that appointment. What do you think you're doing? Blah. Blah. Blah. Eventually, he does a lot of research, and he decides it miiight be okay.

As soon as they arrive, he starts checking the place out. He walks into my tattoo room while I'm working with someone else and starts looking over everything - I send him out and he leaves while fussing. My room. He then proceeds to check out the ENTIRE building. He went in all of the rooms and roamed the entire building looking around, touching everything. Then, he goes outside and walks around and around the building. Apparently that was okay, because he comes back inside. As soon as the other person leaves he goes right into MY tattoo room and starts messing with everything. He looks in the corners for cameras. I'm, of course, pissed off. This is MY room. He starts pelting me with questions, and says he doesn't want her to get it done here. Eventually Jessica talks him into it.

My assistant walks in the room and he FLIPS out and starts screaming I SAID NO ONE ELSE COULD BE IN THE ROOM! Of course we hadn't even started yet! He threatened to take her out of there and my assistant leaves. He then reiterates that it can ONLY happen if no one else is in the room. No assistants. No one else. Just, reluctantly, Shavon, her, and himself. He didn't even want me (Shavon) there. So, of course, I'm really pissed off now. I have to figure out how to do everything myself at once because my assistant can't come in the damn room.

Now, this tattoo is on her stomach. You would think it would be somewhere much more intimate the way he was freaking out. But it wasn't. It wasn't up very high and it didn't even go down to her pelvis. She didn't have to remove any articles of clothing, only lift her shirt up a little. Then, once I'm ready, she lifts up her shirt and he yells WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT??????? I'm ready to about punch this guy in the face. First he judges my room, like there was something wrong with it. And then, he doesn't even want me to look at what I'm trying to cover up! I believe I'm the one doing the service here. I don't have to cover up her tattoo. He's just soo paranoid. But that's not all. It's not over yet.

So, I start to work on her tattoo (I think she was tattooing over it in skin color). And I've been going for maaaybe two minutes, tops. When he looks up and leaves the room SCREAMING. He goes tearing out of the building and runs around to the side of it. We hear him the whole way because he is yelling so loud. So loud - I have no idea what he was yelling about. What he saw was the window in my room. The window in my room facing an alley. The window in my room facing A BRICK WALL. And the curtains weren't closed all the way. There was one small crack in them where THE BRICK WALL was exposed.

He sticks in face up to the window and continues yelling. Then he races back into the building, still yelling, mind you. And comes dashing into my room. I don't I've ever heard someone yell for so long. He was not letting up. He pulls down Jessica's shirt and yells I KNEW THIS WASN'T A GOOD PLACE! ANYONE COULD BE LOOKING IN! I TOLD YOU NOT TO MAKE THE APPOINTMENT!! He grabs her arm and pulls her out of the building. Still yelling.

Now I'm there watching from the window thinking how is this happening? Why does stuff always happen to me? They could have done this anywhere. But no, it had to be in my office. It's like everyone knows drama has to happen around Shavon. I really need to keep popcorn around.

He ran across two lanes of traffic to get to where they parked the car they came in together. She ran after him. He probably starts yelling again. I saw his arms wildly gesturing. Then he looks like he's about to hit her. I'm freaking out. I don't know what to do. Should I call the cops? I don't know.

Then he takes off in the other direction.

What the hell is he thinking? Where does he think he's going? They came together. She drove. And he just walks the other way. I kept expecting him to turn around and come back, but he doesn't. He just keeps walking.

So she comes back inside and immediately starts sobbing. She is crying about everything. About how they were going to get married. About how she loooooooooooooooooooooved him. About how no one can ever ever fill this void. I'm stressed out. She calls her dad on the phone and tells him he just has to go to her ex-boyfriend's house and pick up all of her stuff because they just had the worst break up ever. And she could never imagine seeing him again ever. (She had moved out of her parents house in to his two weeks, yes, two weeks, after they had met. Except this house was like a block away her from her parents' house... yeah.) BUT THAT'S STILL NOT THE END OF THE STORY!!

So, anyways, I'm just about done with all of her crap. A client walks in, she's still crying and I decide I'm going to have a cigarette break before I go back to her tattoo. Then, when I come back inside, maybe two minutes later, I am not even kidding right now, they were holding hands. It looked like they had been dating for months. She was grinning broadly, ENGAGEMENT RING STILL ON HER FINGER, like nothing had ever happened. She was so truly happy. Then they just walk out together, holding hands.

I don't even know how to respond to this. I just kind of sat there with my mouth open. They just walked out like they were best friends. Never mind they had only known each other TWO MINUTES. Never mind she had just lost her head because she was never ever ever again going to find love. And she STILL had that ring on her finger. And her tattoo was partially covered.

But I thought, well, at least I don't have to deal with them anymore. But the story isn't over yet.

Now, it happened to be my birthday. And, of course, I have no idea that any of this has happened until Jessica gets home. The very first thing she did was start to yell at our dad. Now, you would think at 20-something she would have been able to go get her own stuff, but she was SO heartbroken and she could NEVER EVER EVER see him again because he hurt her so sooo badly. But somehow, she talked him into it. She is the favorite child. Our parents have even told us that. So he actually had gone to the house and picked up her stuff.

However, apparently that wasn't good enough. Her dad had left a few key items behind. Including her bra in the bathroom, and her underwear on the bedside table. She demanded that her dad go back and get them. Let me just say that again.... She wanted her dad to go back to get UNDERWEAR on the bedside table. And they think I'm the screwed up one. Yeah.

Side note: I mean, I'm pretty open with my parents but not that open. I'm not sure anyone should be that open with their parents.
But you know what? The story isn't over yet.

That day was my birthday and we were going out to eat. So I (Shavon this time) get a phone call from this guy. "Heey," he says in a hushed tone. "So, they're going out to eat tonight because it's Red Hair's birthday." And here I am thinking WHY DO I CARE? "Okayyyy...." "Well... should I go?" again WHY DO I CARE?!? "Were you invited?" "They said I could come if I wanted to." "Do you want to?" "Well, I mean, I don't have any other plans. I guess." "THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING ME FOR???" "Okay. Okay. Bye."

So, I'm done at work, and I go home, glad that I don't have to put up with anymore bullshit tonight... when something else happens. I'm at home finally. Sitting on my couch finally. Having a well earned second of peace - WHEN HE CALLS AGAIN. "Hey, Shavon" "What?" I snap. "You have to tell me what to do." "Name-I-Don't-Feel-Like-Making-Up I am at HOME." "Okay. But you haaave you tell me what to do, quick." "fine," I snarl. "So we went out to eat because it was Red Hair's birthday. And we went with their family. It was me, Jessica, Red Hair, and their mom and dad. And we just finished eating. And everyone is paying for themselves. Like, even their mom and dad paid separately." "Okay, so? They went Dutch." "But what do I do? Do I pay for Jessica? Or should I let her pay because even their parents paid separately  Isn't that kind of weird? What do I do?" "What ARE you doing?" "I went to the bathroom after they called for the check." "YOU'RE IN THE BATHROOM?" "That's why I'm whispering. You HAVE to tell me what to do." "GET OUT THERE." "But do I pay?" "I don't care. Just GET OUT THERE." "Um, Shavon?" "What?" "Can I call you again?" "NO" "But..." "NO!!! I'm your tattoo artist not your relationship counselor." "But, should I pay?" "GET OUT THERE!"

Now. Imagine that whole story told by someone who is really animated and hysterical. Yeah.
It was worth the wait, wasn't it?

As an added bonus I will include a picture that is on my desktop. I do remember making it (the same day I made my last artwork). I remember who was talking to but not why it was made.

didn't your life just get a little better? thought so.

First Post Found With Search!

August 6th was a big day for me. I got my first ever user coming from a search engine search. I will now proudly show off how popular I am.

Wait... what was that?

I swear. You can't make this stuff up.

Someone found my blog while yahooing that.

So, of course I had to do it too. This person went through four four pages of porn sites and clicked on my blog.

Sadly, I must have disappointed. This user stayed on my blog for less than five seconds.

Best Tattoo Artist - Part One

If you ever want to hear a good story - you need to get a tattoo. Or go with someone who is getting a tattoo.

My sister's tattoo artist, Shavon, tells the best stories ever. And I really do mean ever.

I don't know if any of you have a tattoo, but my sister is getting a sleeve done. For the record, it takes months. And months. And right now Shavon's just doing the outline, and she's super super fast, but sleeves just take forever.

I go with my sister every time just to talk to this woman. I seriously want to be just like her when I grow up. Except for the tattooing part. She's cool, hysterical, and happy. I adore her. (If you actually know her don't tell her I said this.) And the stories. Dear god the stories.

Maybe it's because I don't get out much, but I feel like I don't really have too many stories. But Shavon has a story for everything. And they're always hysterical. I feel like every time I tell a story people are like "yeah, that's so interesting" and move on. I'm sure I could type up one of her stories and it wouldn't be too funny coming from me (I'll try though). She makes everything hysterical. Even on days when everything goes horribly wrong. Especially on days when everything goes horribly wrong.

The last time I went her carbon copy machine broke the second we walked in the door. We're clearly good luck charms. Without that machine she can't tattoo. And she works all day. Every day. Without taking breaks for herself. Which she should. I was there with my sister and a few other women who also stuck around (because we wanted to hear stories, because she's hysterical). And we were not disappointed. We also learned about thermal carbon copy machines... basically there's only a few in the world and all of them are refurbished. And if hers had died completely, she would have to wait in line to score one. This seemed a little unthinkable to us. There was actually something that couldn't be bought on amazon or ebay? We hadn't heard of such a thing.

Okay, enough with the boring.
I am going to try and recap this story.

Actually, first I'm going to tell a different story. If grammar errors make you hurt then you probably should skip down to her story. I'm already bad with grammar and I use lie/lay/whatever a ton of times. I just pick whatever one sounds best.
Right now she is working on refurbishing her office. Which is gorgeous. But she hasn't found the perfect couch yet, and since there's only a few chairs, I sit on the floor. I'm actually pretty sure the floor is more comfortable than the chairs.

So, my sister is in one of the chairs. Two women and Shavon are talking. And someone else is sitting on the floor with me. Except I'm lying on the floor. Using my phone.
(To make these stories easier to tell, it features Shavon, I, Sister, Red Hair, Blond Hair (the two talking to Shavon), and Dark Hair (the one sitting on the floor with me). I don't actually remember if they had red and blond hair - but I'm going for it anyways.)

I was going to find a picture that represented how I was lying, but I couldn't find any that I liked. So, I apologize in advance for the assault your eyes are about to have. Or have already had, depending on how far you've scrolled on this page.
Since I'm drawing my own pictures I might as well draw how it feels to lie on the floor.

Actually this is a lot harder than I thought.... Almost too embarrassing to post. Almost.

Just remember. I'm not a tattoo artist. And there is a VERY good reason why I can/should/will (etc.) never become one.

The way I should have been lying

The way I was lying

Now, I know my pictures are so good, you don't need an explanation - but I'll give one anyways. Because I can. The dark lines are things you can see from above. The light lines are like the dotted lines in math and you can't see them from that angle.

And don't lie - if you are a female and have any shape at all you know this is exactly how it feels when you're lying on the floor.

To answer your questions:

Yes, I did copy the "S" from one picture and use it on the other.

And yes, I did hit the undo button to get the body shape.

And no, my legs aren't that uneven, but making them so took more art brain than I have.

And no, I don't know why my text is not aligned because the pictures are the exact same size.

I know they are.

But, the important thing to remember here is that I am not a tattoo artist.

Back to the story - so I was using my phone laying on my back, I think I was reading, or, as you read in my last post, playing Candy Crush (I couldn't decide which to hyperlink so I did both. They both go the same place though). I had flipped back and forth several time and had decided that it was better boob side up because at least my arms were sort of in the way. And I wasn't sticking my butt in anyone's face. And my hands - slick with sweat - despite their best efforts dropped my phone. And by dropped I mean it just slipped out of my hands. Now, I know what you're thinking okay, Cassie, we all know where this story is going. very funny. haha. you dropped your phone on your face. However, you are assuming wrong. The phone decided to be nice to me and jumped out of my hands and landed with a loud THUNK next to my face. So how is this funny? I have NO idea. Here I am, very excited because guess what - my phone didn't land on my face. However, Dark Hair looked up from her phone right before I dropped it. She saw the whole thing. And from a different perspective it was the funniest thing ever. I am not even hyperbolizing here. She laughed for at least TWENTY minutes. Okay... but it was more than five. She could not stop laughing.

She kept apologizing and composing herself, only to crack up again seconds later. She was laughing so hard my sister... Sister thought I had dropped it on my face. And of course we both started laughing too. Sister was laughing at me. I was laughing embarrassedly and also because somehow when someone laughs at something that hard it inherently becomes funny.

It was the sort of thing where as soon as everyone would (finally) stop laughing, someone would start up again. I - trying to restore my negative dignity - when back to whatever I was doing on my phone. But all the laughing was distracting. When I looked up, grinning, but ready for everything to not be funny any more I realized both of them were staring at me.

They were waiting.
For me to drop my phone - again.

I tried pointing out that everyone would know if I dropped it again because the noise was so loud. But that was funny too.

Seriously though. What's so funny about dropping your phone NEXT to your face?
When it finally - finally calmed down. Dark Hair said "she's still  embarrassed" and it started all over. But really. I don't understand. Why is that sooo funny? Sure, it made a loud noise that it wouldn't have made had it landed on my face. But it was NEXT to my face, people. Not ON my face.

Anyways, so, I just realized that A. this post is getting quite long and B. I was reading a book before I started writing. That was like forever ago, too. But I had to jot down that I wanted to write about Shavon sometime, and I just kept going... somehow....

Whatever. I think I will end on that note. All of you can laugh at me for dropping my phone. And I will tell Shavon's story next time. And it will be actually funny.

Hair Yoga and Other Stories

I was all set on making my post today about the crazy animals I live with (pets - the humans will come later). But then this morning I read on So Then... Stories a post about hair - My Daughter, the Italian Truck Driver.
And was inspired to write a post about some of my own hair stories.

For those of you who don't know - I have sisters. My family is one kid short of double the norm (there's four of us - I was trying to be witty - it didn't work). I have two younger sisters and an older half-sister. And all four of us decided when we were little that we had an aversion to hair cuts.

First of all, none of us liked brushing our hair. In fact, we straight up refused to. Because our hair was so long it seemed like a huge chore that we could get away with forgoing (spoiler alert: we couldn't). From 4th to 6th grade I had a huge dreadlock on the back of my head. Sometimes it would be covered in a layer of brushed hair, often times not.
One time in 6th grade when it was particularly bad (I could see the top of it over my head in the mirror bad) my mom asked me to put it up to make it a little less obvious. I  had to find the most stretched out hair tie in the house, but I made it work. That day my favorite teacher (science - we used to hate on writing together because we wrote like we talked and the writing teacher in that grade was terrible, one time she... posts on that in the future) came up to me at lunch and grabbed the knot that was my hair. She commented. I don't remember what she said (just that it wasn't mean or embarrassing... yeah no idea what she said) but after that, and hours of trying to get it out, I started brushing my hair regularly. Funnily enough my sisters each have very similar stories. Apparently we don't learn anything from each other.

But what about the hair yoga?
We're getting there.

like this

One time I will never never never forget is when my youngest sister decided to brush her hair with a round brush. No one will forget that day. Ever. Not even the family friend, Elizabeth. And she died. I don't remember how old my sister was at the time, but she thought you used this brush like a curler. Now her hair is very short now, but at the time it touched whatever chair she was sitting on. It was looooong. This time she took as much hair as she could, starting at the tips and wrapped and around the brush. And then... she pulled.
Now, you might not know what happens in this circumstance. Hint: A Disaster. The brush suddenly becomes a torture device. Most parents would get a pair of scissors or take their kid to the hair dresser. Elizabeth's father shaved her head to teach her to brush her hair. But my little sister cried and said she liked her long hair. My mom had to leave (and didn't want to deal with her) so they made a pact. I call someone to help, you brush your hair from now on. In tears, she agreed. Now my mom laughs when she remembers calling Elizabeth for help. But at the time she was miles past being mortified. You know someone loves you when she spends four, that's right FOUR, hours trying to get a brush out of your hair. And that's after she cut all the bristles off the brush. Yeah. She did start brushing her hair after that though. And, she will never use a round brush again. Ever. Not even once.

The last story (yes, yes, the hair yoga story, I know that's the only reason you decided to read this post) that I will share today involves yours truly and my older sister. I was seven or eightish in her room (my parents gave her their room when she was in town) catching up before she went to some important dinner meeting. Actually I must have been older. I don't know what 13/14-year-old has important dinner meetings. Anyways, somehow, the idea of hair yoga was formed (aside: if you remember how it came up, please let me know). We thought it was hysterical. We were almost in tears from laughing so hard.  I know I said "it's hair yoga! you have to say 'owwww' instead of 'ommmmm.'" Then, I decided that it was an excellent time to try it out. First we started with stretches. That was pretty much me moving her hair up and down, reminding her to say "owwww" by occasionally pulling. After playing with her hair a little, it was time for the twist poses. I took every strand of hair on her head in my hands and stuck the wad on the top of her scalp. I then proceeded to walk in a circle around her with my hand on top of her head. This went on for a long time.  Not even too long. So far past too long there's no word for it. What I thought I was doing - making a bun or hair twist that would be easy to take out. She thought the same. After all, I was only twisting it. What could go wrong? What I was actually doing - causing an impressive knot. And by impressive, I mean impressive. When I (finally) took my hand away the hair didn't move. When she tried to shake the twist out, it still didn't move. Not even a little. Oops. Then my mom comes in the room. "Okay, time to g-WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR HAIR??" I tried to explain hair yoga to my mom while my sister frantically tried to do something about the hopeless knot. My mom did not understand. The knot did not come out. I felt horrible, but there was nothing I could do. She left for her dinner meeting brush in hand, hair in knot, swearing she would kill me when when she got home.
So, if anyone was wondering - hair yoga - not good.


The more I think about it the more hair stories I come up with. But I think I'll leave it at that for now.
Coming Soon: Hair Stories Part Two
I think I will end with the same invitation as Darcy Perdu - does anyone else have any hair stories?