Coming clean and the King

So, I made an impossible declaration a week and a half ago. This time there was no ultimate victory. This was the phase in which I failed so I hid in a hole for a week. Now I have to come out and fess up. Gah!

I was not the first to use it, nor will I be the last. It just fits so well. Anyways, I've promised 5 blogs to J. Three of which have been specified. They were supposed to have been done by last weekend. But, though I am a procrastinator, I am not one for giving up completely. Consider this my come back before the next impossible declaration either boosts my ego or crumples me for a week and a half. Anyways, I am supposed to write a blog on why Elvis is the King, listing all those things that made/make him awesome. This should be interesting since I did not grow up listening to Elvis and have never seen any of his films (something I'm sure will be remedied within the next few months). You could say I'm a Beatles girl since the argument is you have to be primarily an Elvis person or a Beatles person (Pulp Fiction fans make me proud). I most definitely grew up listening to the Beatles and watching their films. However, I never understood comparing the two or creating one better than the other. They seem so completely different in their origins, approach and style that it confuses me when I hear people arguing which is responsible for rock and roll being so rockin' and rollin'. At this point I declare platypus and say that I am a Doors girl. There we've gotten that out of the way. Now for my task.

Since I've yet to be educated on the man I've decided to look up random facts and see how they make me feel about him as a person and not just a rock legend. Let's see, Elvis is awesome for the following reasons (and so many more):

• Elvis's entourage was known as the Memphis Mafia. And they all wore rings that said TCB (Take Care of Business). That alone makes me wish there was a Godfather-esque film involving Elvis. Could you imagine? And let me stop you if you think I'm making fun or being sarcastic. I am dead serious. That would have been an amazing feat if done just right.
• Elvis was blond until his late teens. I get that. I'm naturally blond. Black hair looks damn good and who here can't admit he'd made himself to be an amazing image.
• When Elvis discovered his wife had been having an affair with a close friend he was enraged but when his bodyguard offered to set out a contract to kill the man, Elvis let him go. I'm telling you, Godfather. 
• The day before he died he tried to get a print of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope to show to his daughter. That really does hit me right in the heart. I'm a geek so I love Star Wars sure. But the man obviously wanted to do something for his daughter and you can't say that about many musicians who make it big.
• "On 30 July 1954, Elvis played one of his first shows, at the Overton Park Shell in Memphis. He was, apparently, so nervous, that his legs started to shake. The outlandish flares the singer had chosen to wear that evening only exacerbated the shaky movement. The girls in the audience went wild, and Elvis decided to incorporate his shaky-legs routine into future shows." I have to say this is my favorite piece of trivia so far. I love that he transformed a nervous movement into his trademark moves.

• "Led Zeppelin were big fans of Elvis and were desperate to meet him when they toured the US. In 1973, the longed-for meeting came to pass, when Robert Plant and John Paul Jones met the King in Los Angeles. The Zeppelins were rendered speechless by the meeting, but Elvis broke the ice by swapping his $5,000 gold and diamond watch for Jones’s watch – which featured a picture of Mickey Mouse. From that moment on, any member of Led Zeppelin was welcome in the front row of an Elvis concert." There are no words for how amazed I am right now. All that would really come out would be an unintelligible stutter of "Led Zeppelin...Robert Plant...JPJ...speechless...Mickey Mouse watch!"
• His favorite toothpaste was Colgate (I could write an entire blog and how I always have a conversation with myself in my head when I use Colgate about how much more I like it than Crest or any others and how I want to tell people when I borrow theirs and it's not Colgate but I must be polite and not a worthless toothpaste snob). And his favorite soft drink was Pepsi. Take that Coca-Cola! (Though I enjoy some of your products, let's face the truth, Pepsi just tastes better and doesn't leave a funny aftertaste). 
• "Elvis wore a cross, the Hebrew letter chai, and a star of David around his neck. 'I don’t want to miss out on heaven due to a technicality,' he said." I couldn't help but crack a smile
• Elvis knew Cassandra Peterson as a showgirl before she became Elvira. He took an interest in her (not a sexual escapade) and told her to focus on her singing because he was impressed by her voice. Damn it Elvira, why didn't you listen to the King?!
• He sued to work as an usher in a movie theater. I actually think that is an interesting job since I love movies, and I love that he was later in the movies.
• The FBI supposedly has 600 or so odd files on Elvis. Again, Godfather.
• Seriously though, I've heard that he pretty much started from nothing and made himself into something, which is the American Dream. I also heard that he spent a good deal of that money on all of his friends and family. Somehow that sets Elvis up in my mind as a Charles Foster Kane figure. Just makes me feel like he just wanted to share all that he had because he really just wanted friendship and love. But I'm pretty ignorant on the matter so...

I challenge J to tell me some real facts (since he's pretty much an expert) and then tell me what makes him an Elvis man.

Oh yeah, and I got my alleged "facts" from here, here and here.

I now have 2 "official" followers

By "official" I mean the ones who hit that little follow button and have either an account or filled in their name. To anyone else who reads this blog, you most definitely still count. However, unless you tell me in some way that you are reading it, I do not know that you are following me. This does not sadden me. In fact, if you think about it you must be a blog ninja, always present but never in sight. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt since the alternative would be stalker or possibly the head of an evil government agency waiting to take me to a secret lab and military base once I have completed the transformation to werewolf. I think I speak for myself when I say that would just be an awkward assumption. *ahem* Anyways, thank you to my two loyal followers and all those blog ninjas out there. You give me hope.

Background belongs to Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half. Blog Ninja was drawn by me. I know, shockingly life-like.

PS- If there is a blog to follow, it is most definitely Hyperbole and a Half. Blog ninjas, if you are tired of hiding in dark corners with your ninja laptops and want to finally follow someone, I'm not even going to waste your time with mine. Go straight to her blog and read it from the beginning and go ahead and click the follow button. It will be well worth being un-ninja-like.

PPS - Meet Jake. My second follower with his own blog (promising blogger). Natalie is still the first. Kristen and Nicole are nonconformist followers. I appreciate you all.

Platypus, Platypi, Platipodes

There were no guidelines to the 5 posts rules. Also, platypi are always relevant. Whenever I'm in doubt or in a seemingly trapped awkward situation, I simply say platypus in a calm and reasonably firm voice then walk away. This leaves the party that trapped you momentarily incapacitated. It works 99% of the time almost every time, maybe. And how can you not take a moment to reflect on the amazing creature. Some interesting facts*:

*

• The Platypus is an egg-laying mammal with a duck bill, beaver tail and otter-footed form. 
• It is literally one of a kind (only member of its family/genus) 
• It is a venomous mammal.
• It is semi-aquatic and native to Australia...WAIT WHAT?!
• There is a spur on the hind foot of the male platypus delivers a poison capable of bringing severe pain to humans.

  • Platypodes are BAMFs 

**

*Original photo and facts acquired from itsnature.org
**Second photo from The Poison in the Platypus
P.S. - Platipodes is supposedly the more accurate Greek plural for platypus but playpi sounds better to me. More playful and less pod-like.

I win!

Waking up, this is not a metaphor, this is my morning life

This is # 4. Only one more to go Nat!

Does anybody else pay attention to how creepy ice cream trucks are in real life?

The ones from the films and the ones I've seen in real life couldn't be more different:

• The ones from films:

• Clean cut and always smiling
• Professional
• Plays same song like pop goes the weasel or the entertainer
• In an immaculate white truck or ice cream cone truck

Could be made creepy but all things considered very nice and clean. Picture acquired from here.

• The ones from real life:

• Scruffy and dirty
• Menacing and rude
• Plays the Lullaby or La Cucaracha
• Seriously, like they didn't seem enough like pedophiles already.
• A seedy yellow or green van with creepy children crossing signs on it and pictures of prepackaged ice cream to lure children in.

See what I mean? Picture acquired from here.

Anyone else? Anybody? Discuss.

That's 3 Natalie. I love when shit rhymes.

Do you ever have to suppress your creepy urges?

If you've ever worked in customer service (meaning you interact with customers) you may have noticed that people are somehow naturally inclined to be creepy. This includes yourself, behind the counter. Okay, so maybe this is only true of me but please just humor me. At one of my first jobs I noticed on the driver's license of a customer that they lived on the exact same street I did. At the age of 24 I have managed to suppress my instinct to do what me at 19 did: "Oh, hey, we live on the same street. What a small world." FREEZE. Okay, so I know that if a sleep deprived and possibly neurotic looking employee at a video rental place told me this I would possibly try to laugh it awkwardly off and then spend the rest of the night (possibly the week) evading any cars following me for longer than 2 minutes and having my keys and whatever else I could manage at the ready to fight off the homicidal stalker I have most likely encountered. But then I'm paranoid. Geesh, it's a good thing I don't do any drugs or smoke. Could you imagine what that would do to a person with my frame of mind? Anyway, right, back on subject. UNFREEZE. The customer just nods and smiles and then her son, maybe 16 years of age, the silent and brooding type, responds, "Yeah, you live at *insert exact house address* right? You went to *exact high school* and you usually wear *exact type of clothes* and sometimes you wear your hair *exactly how I had started styling my hair on my days off*" I stood there smiling brightly and painfully as I finished the transaction trying to remember if I had ever seen either of these people at any point on my street and coming up with no recollections. In an eighties teen film I think this would be endearing but I'm no Molly Ringwald and I have enough worries of my own what with werewolves, zombies and demons possibly running amok. They had managed to take a potentially creepy (similar but not to be confused with potentially awkward situations) situation and bring it up a notch.

Creepy-meter

I will most likely be posting little things that are creepy but aren't necessarily meant to be. For example, a friend of mine once told a coworker that he was so adorable that she wanted to keep him under her bed and feed him spaghetti. He loved it. And apprently she wasn't coming on to him but I think it makes a very handy pick up line. Lol. On a side note, I love my friends. A few of them are just about as awkward, geeky, and potentially creepy as me. Anyways, these situations are potentially creepy unless the person doesn't go along with them and is threatened then it is just plain creepy. Remember the line.

This is post #2 Natalie. Dun dun DUN!

Helium filled expectations

So I made a promise to my friends Nat, Kristen and Nicole that I would start posting again before the weekend was done. Of course, I felt so moved that they actually read this damn thing that I took it too far and declared I would put up 5 posts to make up for over a month of being really really busy. Of course it was Natalie who seemed to have issued the challenge to my overzealous ego by saying she's missed my posts and she's tortured some poor souls by referring them to this blog to read said posts, of which I have not been posting for over a month. I suppose I issued the challenge to myself and then managed to one up myself immediately by announcing that I would make it 5 posts instead of one. This is one of the many things that is wrong with the way I think. Let me elaborate:

Dramatic reenactment.

I am somehow inspired to do something that I would love to accomplish but most likely do not have the time, talent nor energy to successfully carry out. There are witnesses, most likely people I greatly admire, seeing as how they probably were the ones who inspired me in the first place by complimenting me or issuing a good natured challenge or both. I then declare/accept said challenge and take it one step further. Why do I do this? I don't really know. I'm not entirely aware of my actions until the witnesses are gone and my stupid smug smile becomes a distracted worried frown. What have I done?

Personally, I blame television. Books too. I always think of those moments in mystery, adventure or western films/books when the protagonist is issued a challenge by the snarky antagonist, ignorant townspeople or no good rotten scoundrel, and everyone gets really quiet and you can just feel the tension in the room, crowd or dance hall. Then the hero pushes out his/her chest and accepts the challenge adding something to make it seem even more impossible that has everyone gasping, cheering and looking admirably upon him/her. The difference between me and the hero*? The hero gets it done, often with finesse, even if it's to the last second of the prearranged deadline. I just hide behind "I work two jobs now and I'm just so f*cking exhausted all the time." Then I hang my head in shame until the next challenge snaps it back up a little too high above my shoulders.

I can't help it. It's like I need to achieve greatness through some impossible declaration. Though can you imagine if I achieved the impossible all the time and then failed at something minor. Somehow I'm comforted by how much more of a disappointment I might have been had I been successful. This is how my brain has managed to help me survive an ongoing series of awkward and foolish incidents also known as my life.

An endless cycle.

By the by Natalie, this is post # 1. 4 more to go. I can only hope my success does not lead to a downward spiral of disappointment from achieving a miniature version of my dream (carrying out an impossible declaration) and (as a result) being so damn awesome. Let us hope that my victory is sweeter than the cinnamon apple crepes I made my declaration over when we discussed this at IHOP. What better place than the International House of Pancakes to hear gasps and cheering?

P.S. - Kristen and Nicole, it would really help me out next time if you could gasp and cheer the next time I make another such impossible assertion on top of a challenge. Of course, it might also crush my spirit if I were to fail at it later knowing that the gasps and applause were all for naught. Damn it. Just stop me from one upping the next challenge. Please. Help. Me....!

*You may have noticed that I use hero for both males and females. The word heroine always confused me as a child. I think it disturbed me that is sounded too much like something that involves scary needles rather than an awesome/badass woman. Also, heroine reminds me too much of the type of "hero" that still needs a man to save her and somehow still manages to faint. I don't include you Nancy Drew, you just get knocked out alot, it's amazing you've survived with minimal damage.

A lesson on perception or lack there of

Okay, so this is not an exact definition but I think it is simple enough to understand. In the following dissertation I will be referring to perception. When I say perception, I am describing how we perceive our surroundings through our senses along. In other words, the mental image we attain through sights and sounds. Observe the following. You may remember me mentioning a certain path which led to a particular night time walk that become a death defying adventure.Or maybe you don't. Anyways, needless to say I went back with Nat and we decided to see if it was as terrifying during the day as it was at night or even as creepy as it was at dusk. Let me show you a few side by side photos showing the perception of that dangerous night and the reality of the tame day a few days later.

Okay, this may be slightly dramatized.

This too.

No exaggeration.

I know, where's Jason?

Serial killer dumping ground.

Eerie.

Yes, the three witches from Macbeth are almost certainly there at night.

I hope you found these pictures useful. Perception is a powerful thing. Which of these things were just paranoid delusions? We may never actually know.

Btw - Here is where I got the original photo of the snake and here is where I got the original photo of the three witches.

Also, thank you to Nat for the amazing original photos you took with your camera phone. This epic psychological evaluation would have been pointless without your photos.

Return to The Path of Possible Peril: A Sense of Doom!

So we went back. Natalie and I took a mutual friend, Kristen with us this time. We made sure to go back at 9 at night without a flashlight save the app of an iPhone. I don't know where to begin so I will continue the rest of the story in bullet points. The following can be applied to one or all of us:

• The playground was still creepy.
• No, that's not a snake right in front of you, it's just a crack in the pavement. Bring your glasses next time. I should talk, I still had no light or weapon.

Of course I drew that snake from scratch but the crack is most definitely a photoshopped picture...

• There was a Beauty and the Beast moment as I described there wasn't in the last path post. In fact, I even mentioned how it was a Beauty and the Beast moment where we must decide between the obviously pitch black path of doom and the welcoming well lit path. We chose the path of doom. Of course.
• Two or three or ten guys shout something at you over a ditch in the pitch black park that drug dealers love to hang out in, don't answer, especially not by shouting, "I'm sorry. What? I can't understand you." And if they say "Hey, you girls wanna get high tonight?" then I guess the only thing to do is shout politely back "Oh. Um. No thank you." before running further into the darkness holding onto your pants so they don't fall down in your haste to flee alive. Chances are they are just mildly interested in trying to sell you pot and shrugged it off when you declined, on the other hand, they could have a killer T-Virus syringe disguised as heroin and they are currently running ninja style to murder you/turn you into a zombie. Better safe than sorry.

Almost incredibly accurate.

• Almost get distracted by other cool dark path that would most definitely take us to the middle of nowhere where the demonic witches burn fields or something but decide that it might be better to go an hour out of our way through a safely lit neighborhood so at to elude the Umbrella Corporation.
• Cats are too adorable not to take a minute or two to pet even when fleeing said evil murderous corporation.
• Experience Matrix deja vu moment with plumbing vans.
• Arrive safely to destination with slightly sore feet, flushed cheeks, and no regrets.
• The end.

Also, all three of us felt incredibly awkward at a friend's passion party (nipple cream, dildos, what are those metal balls for? Nevermind I think I just zoned out to my safe place) so the walk was the best alternative. We're not cool enough to face 23 women describing self made orgasms and vagina exercises, so we faced almost certain zombification instead. Now you're one step closer to understanding me and my close friends and one giant leap, oh, I see, you're just running away. It's cool, it's only potentially awkward don't worry about it.

Remember how dolls are bad? Under the Hell NO! and ABSOLUTELY NOT categories? Well...

I was recently asked on tumblr by indecisivejess what my greatest fear is.

This was my response (to be illustrated later):

I'm glad you asked. I had a few of the normal ones that stuck with me such as fears of being utterly alone or losing loved ones but my biggest "irrational" fear was dolls coming to life to kill me. I don't know precisely how it started. I didn't see Child's Play till I was 20 or 21. I did see the commercials for it, however, and had many recurring nightmares with Chucky (and the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang for some reason). I think it was just the concept that terrified me. I wasn't afraid of ghosts or monsters really until I got older. I did have dolls (mostly stuffed animals) that I really liked/loved. But there was at least one... Hmm, how should I explain? I once had this simple cloth soft doll I named Mary after Mary had a Little Lamb (because she looked like a shepherdess I guess) and I loved her. I think she was my first doll. I would fall asleep with her and pretend she was my confidant that could understand any secret language I made up (this only really lasted through age 3-4 but she still has a soft spot in my heart). Then the One That Shall Never Be Named (we shall call her IT) arrived shortly after her.

IT was a blond haired blue eyed life like toddler doll in permanent blue pajamas that I think my Aunt and Uncle gave me (I was born with blond hair and blue eyes that better late than never turned green). IT was the model with lifelike hands and feet that were soft but hard plastic. IT would close its eyes when you laid IT down and when you picked IT up its eyes rolled open. Terrifying. Anyway, I preferred Mary so I slept with Mary and Left IT lying on a chair in my room. One night I woke up with a strange feeling. I would sometimes get what I now know to be sleep paralysis but then thought I was just scared to the point that I couldn't move and could hardly breathe. I saw IT lying on the chair slowly jump (I mean fall) off the chair onto the floor where its eyes began rolling uncontrollably in the back of its head like Godzilla's in the old cheesy flicks with Ghidorah. I have never been so horrified in all my life. Now, realistically I understand that IT was just probably placed so carelessly on the chair that IT was slowly slipping off, drawn by gravity. But every time I think of it I still see how quickly it seemed to have been on the chair then on its back on the floor staring at me with rolling demonic eyes. No one knew about my fear for a long time because of how I bravely dealt with it. I took it as a warning that I wasn't spending enough time with IT and that if I didn't change my ways IT would not only destroy Mary but also murder me in my sleep.

I carried IT everywhere I took Mary. I slept with Mary on one side (protecting her from IT) and IT on the other and it was not an easy slumber I tell you. My mom probably remembers an adorable moment when she walked in on my talking to all of my dolls and stuffed animals about how I loved them all equally. What she didn't realize it that I believed that if I didn't convince them of this they would take offense and find something sharp to stab/slice me with (also a fear). I even apologized for not always giving some of them enough attention and how I would try to mend my ways, giving them various excuses such as my family taking up some of my time (but trying to downplay it so they didn't decide to try to kill my parents or visiting grandmother). It was Hell. My parents would leave my closet slightly open with the light on so I had a night light. I watched that crack as if my life depended on it just waiting for the moment I saw a small shadow or heard a thump (which sometimes an animal/doll did fall from a shelf in my closet and I would run into my parents' room or yell their names over and over giving them the excuse that I desperately need a glass of water or something so that they might protect me if the animal/doll decided to act but they wouldn't know the truth so they were protected by their blissful ignorance and the animal/doll would have no reason to hurt them.

I hated IT most of all. I would purposefully forget IT if I could manage when I visited my grandma but it didn't always work. I had to make it look like I accidentally forgot IT and was sad for the loss but that sometimes made my parents remember to pack IT so it was a very hard and trying time in my life. I'm pretty sure I stuffed IT in a black plastic garbage bag with a bunch of other unwanted "but loved" toys locked away in a spare closet. Dolls still scare me. The movie Child's Play was not so bad. But you know that movie Dead Silence. It wasn't that bad of a horror flick but every time a dummy was suddenly there (moving or still) no matter how cheesy I flinched and felt like screaming until it was gone. Every time I play a horror game or watch a horror movie I laugh and have fun until I see a doll, no matter how unrelated it is to the actual plot, and then I shriek or am almost on the verge of tears. I'll even shake or hold onto a friend or family member until I'm certain it won't pop up again. Even in non horror movies I get terrified suddenly by a sudden glimpse of a doll. Toy Story, surprisingly is still enjoyable to me, even Sid's room. Though in Toy Story 3 (you can ask my mom) I almost had a panic attack every time I saw the walking baby doll with the bottle. I practically climbed up my theater seat the first time I saw him. He reminded me a little too much of IT I guess.

Absolutely terrifying.

PS - I will try to find a picture with Mary and/or IT so you can understand my sheer delight with Mary and my utter terror with IT.

Potentially Awkward Moments vs. Really Awkward Moments

I was just talking to some friends today about things that seemed like they should be awkward but didn't really feel that way, and how they differed from moments that actually felt as awkward as they were. My life, to be fair is a series of awkward moments so, needless to say, some things jump out more than others. If you're someone like me than you can't count the number of times you answered a question that wasn't directed to you and then had to play it off like you were just joking, or you thanked someone for a compliment apparently directed to the person next to you and had to come up with a follow-up response that didn't make you seem incredibly conceited to think it would have been intended for you, or saying hello to a stranger that maybe knew you from somewhere but you didn't recognize right away and then they give you a concerned look as they pass you by to hug someone behind you. My favorite of these every day occurrences has to be when I hear my name and look around but it's for another Amanda (which there are at least a million of in my generation alone), and then when I hear my name another day I ignore it and look like a complete jerk to a friend or co-worker that was actually so delighted to see me they tried to get my attention. In fact, I'm often the person who tries to subtly point out to a coworker or friend that I noticed them and would love to talk but they don't see me or ignore me so I start looking like an ignorant lunatic trying to get their attention by saying their name 5 times loudly and as they walk away without even a glance all of the other twenty people around them look at me like I must be mentally slow. Anyways, like I said, my life is a series of awkward moments, so you know if I think something is really awkward then it must be pretty damn awkward.

Knew what I was getting myself into.

I was talking to my friend Brian about how the very first time I watched The Rocky Horror Picture Show was with my mom. This is a potentially awkward moment, yes? However, my mom had wanted to rent it as much as me out of curiosity, and she actually took it in strides and enjoyed. She may have thought some of the stuff was strange or over the top but she could laugh at some moments, enjoy the music and understand the overall message and theme of the film. If she walked in on me watching it with friends I would actually feel no need to pause it and wouldn't even mind if she sat down and watched the rest with us, and most of my friends now feel the same since they somehow understand me (that's how you know I have awesome friends) and my mom. She'll even decorate for Halloween with me and sing along to Sweet Transvestite and Time Warp. Yes, I know, my mother rocks. Nevertheless, I'm sure most people blush for me the moment they hear that the first time I watched that film was with my mother. You may be thinking, "Well then what would you consider awkward?" Let me give you an example.

No "WARNING: INCEST" on cover.

I once watched a movie called The House of Yes that my mom picked up from Albertsons to rent just because the cover looked interesting and it was a dollar rental. Even the description seemed harmless enough: "A mentally unbalanced young woman (who thinks she's Jackie Kennedy) flips into a murderous rage when her brother returns home to reveal he's engaged." It should have been called The House of Oh No You Didn't Just Make a Movie About An Incestuous Brother and Sister That Like To Reenact the JFK Assassination Before Getting It On, That I'm Watching With My Parents During Dinner. I guess they opted for the shorter title. That had to be the most awkward moment of my pre-high school days. It's like if we shut it off we would be acknowledging how awkward and uncomfortable it was and possibly wasted a whole dollar. I'm pretty sure my mom walked out half way to "check on something" while she read in the other room. I died a little inside that day. Rocky Horror was so much more appropriate.Maybe if there had been other signs that would have made sense but it definitely did not clue us into what it was really about. I think we just thought it was a psychological thriller. I wonder if it was rated R for INCEST. I think there should be a clear "Rated R for Incest" warning on all films revolving around incest. Then some of us could avoid these extremely awkward moments.

What the cover should have looked like.

The Path of Possible Peril...

The other night my friend Natalie and I decided to go for a walk. I love going for walks. I get this feeling of tremendous excitement because it feels like we're going on an adventure. Anything can happen on a walk and it's less likely to be something bad when you have someone with you. This is how Natalie and I ended up on the path of death. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating slightly. I'll call it the path of possible peril. Hmmm, alliteration seems a bad choice. We'll name it later then. Anyways, I had never been to the park Natalie had chosen. It was awesome. There were lots of trees, a gazebo, a fountain in a little lake/pond thing and stone statue foxes. Things were looking promising. I ignored the creepy playground. Playgrounds always look creepy at dusk. It's a given. Just like children are always creepy in horror films. And dolls. Ugh, don't get me started on dolls. Wait, what was I saying?

Be aware.

Oh, right, the park. It also had many paths to choose from. Since I made the decision, it was obvious things were going to get scary. It's a gift and a curse (sorry to steal your phrase Monk but it works). I have this need to always choose left over right. I just feel that people always choose right automatically and left is completely neglected and, well, left out. I always choose left, not just because of its feelings, but because I've grown to love left, just like I love odd numbers. So when Natalie asked which way we should go, I proudly declared, "left!" I thought it was a good decision. It wasn't like in Beauty and the Beast where Maurice decides to take a shortcut along a path with creepy jagged branches into the woods and the horse is like, "Are you crazy?" (even though it didn't actually say anything though it totally could have since it was an animated Disney film with talking objects but whatever). The trees looked safe and the path seemed tame. Of course.

Anyways, we keep walking until we see a bridge. I went "Ohhh, cool. A bridge." and Natalie said something like, "That's odd. I've walked in this park numerous times and I don't recall there ever being a bridge here." Then we had that moment where we slowed slightly and mist seemed to collect around the bridge while eerie music played in the background and a girl with long beautiful red hair walked up to the bridge in plain sight and walked through one of the holes in the side to drop down underneath. Okay, so I don't actually think there was mist and the music was probably in my head but the red head was there in a flannel shirt and black jeans with a backpack. The girl must have noticed us walking towards her. You would think that sneaking under a bridge would be something you attempt when you are sure no one is looking. Apparently not. Natalie and I kept declaring how strange this was with a few "What the f*cks?" mixed in.

Not actual photographs. Shocking, I know.

We decided to walk on the bridge and see what exactly was going on. We weren't exactly using our inside voices as we declared that there was probably a drug deal going on right beneath us. I said aloud that we were probably going to get shot. At this we laughed, not because it was actually funny but because if we laughed it would somehow convince the drug dealers below that were just joking, completely ignorant, and not worth shooting. Still, we had to look back and over the side. There was no one there. Suddenly things changed. This was not a drug deal situation, it was more likely a ghost to have disappeared so quickly. Then Natalie pointed out a tied up black garbage bag in the plants and stream that lay underneath the creepy bridge. She mentioned Dexter and laughed and I laughed too, worrying whether it was a friendly serial killer of killers or just your average serial killer of young girls walking aimlessly in creepy areas. The absence of the pretty red headed girl starting weighing on me further.

Nevertheless, we kept on walking, against all common sense just to prove to ourselves that there is a simple and safe explanation to it all. We never really found one. At one point we walked past a large circular burnt area of field. It almost looked as if some of the burns were designs etched into the ground. Now the ghost serial killer drug dealing red headed girl was looking like a witch too. Suddenly we heard something in the bushes beside us. Nothing seemed to be there but it was probably a demon or a monster or a killer that was just waiting for us to say something from a horror film like, "Don't worry, it was just a mouse or something. Nothing could possibly harm us here. Let's go do drugs or something else slasher movies disapprove of like sex shall we?" So we just laughed nervously and picked up the pace. Then, I stopped because I saw someone peak around from a bush in front of us and then duck back away. Natalie didn't see him so rather then tell her to take my word for it I declared loudly for her to follow me towards said bush to see that there was in fact someone creepy waiting behind it. I don't know why my survival instincts were so poor that night but as it turned out it was just two teenage guys sitting on a bench behind a bush staring at us as we walked by as if we hadn't walked that far just to see if they were there all the while saying how creepy they might be.

Then baby quail ran across our path, then their parents, and then apparently some relatives with an uncle that had worst survival instincts than me since he kept running in small circle right in front of our feet as if he couldn't make up his mind to follow the others or fall back. It's possible he mistook us for the witch/ghost/demon/monster/drug dealer/killer and was being a hero by distracting us while they other quail made it across. I think not though since he let the children go first unsupervised. Tsk tsk. That's when we realized it would be dark very soon and was probably not a good idea to keep going, at least not without a flashlight which could act as both a source of light and a weapon (Nancy Drew style). So we turned back, all the more sane for escaping the path of possible peril. We're planning on going back soon for a creepy night time adventure. Don't worry, we're not completely hopeless. We'll bring flashlights and take some pictures for you guys.

PS - The pictures would be of weird and creepy things like the bridge, not anything perverted. Just wanted to make things clear. That's what she said. Wait, what?

Working out makes me a little too hungry for the wrong thing...

And no, it's not sex but that would probably be a much more interesting post so if someone has that problem then by all means please do write about it. Anyway, remember how I told you that I'm turning into a werewolf. I pretty much promised to list out the reasons why I thought so but I've been much too distracted these past few days to do so. I mean, obviously, since I am turning into one, I have problems focusing and I always feel restless. I know what you're thinking. Perhaps I have ADD or it's my unruly anxiety. Thank you for trying to make me feel better but I am pretty sure this ends with a muscle shifting, bone crunching, agony filled change against my will once a month for the rest of my life. Though I should probably point out that having ADD or manic anxiety are no walks in the park and without medication might perhaps feel similar to changing into a werewolf but what the hell do I know so I'm just going to stop talking.

Oh yeah, wait, I can't stop talking, I have to explain at least one reason why I am in fact turning into a beast soon. Okay, so I've been working out more again. I used to run Cross Country in middle school and all throughout high school. Before you get too excited I was extremely slow and usually got last but i never walked during a race and I got to where  could run up to 5 miles before stopping. *obligatory pat on the back and mundane participation award* Well, even though my body was not really built for running, I always loved it and the focus and peace it gave me so I tried various times after high school to start it again. My problem is I always tried to find a buddy and, let's face it, there aren't very many people who would consider running a few miles early in the morning before work or on the weekend a good time. I've accepted that I will have to be a lone runner, and a slow but happy one at that. But Amanda, how is any of this relevant to becoming a werewolf?

It all adds up.

I'm glad you asked non-existent reader. After a workout many people experience a craving for something sweet, salty, and/or full of carbs. That makes sense I suppose, carbs fuel a runner well. I, however, do not crave pretzels, candy, cookies, or fruit. I crave meat. And when I say meat I mean steak. And though I am a fan of well done, after a work out it doesn't really matter if it's closer to rare (though thankfully I put my fut down at raw so the change isn't too far along I suppose). Do I eat meat after a workout? No, I try to resist it. I don't want to start attacking people because I let myself make the full change. What sort of almost werewolf person would I be if I allowed that to happen? Not a very good one. Though I guess if I were for the change and a violent person then it could be seen as a "good" one but that it not the case so just forget I even said anything about it. I've just realized though that I must not have a werewolf stalked unless he/she has been stalking me since high school since the need for meat after a workout started then (though I think that wasn't until junior year). Maybe I have a recessive werewolf gene. I don't know whether that is worse or better. I remember late, after having run 4 or 5 miles (real runners will scoff at this) after school I'd want to get Chipotle.

Anyone who has ever gone to Chipotle knows that that is a hell of a lot of food. A steak burrito holds alot of steak, and that is what I always would go for. Even if I didn't finish the burrito the steak would be what I at the most of. I know I know, now I'm not very ladylike or whatever. Every time I got really hungry during work at Circuit City (one of 3 jobs I've had) I'd go across the street on my lunch break and bring back a steak burrito hoping no one in the back would notice but too hungry to care if there was. Besides the usual ridiculous sexual innuendos about the "big burrito" I was holding and about to put into my mouth, I usually got the look of disbelief that I would eat such a thing. By the way, I never really understood that innuendo. I mean, sure it's big and could be compared to a penis, sure. But if you then take the leap to me eating it would be like performing oral it just gets kind of scary. Instead of a porno, I see a horrific scene involving me ripping the flesh open with my teeth. Is that a turn on for guys? Me + big Chipotle steak burrito = cannibalistic grossness? Bleh, don't make me think of such things.

Enough said.

Great. Now the one follower I might have acquired has left running for the hills. Thanks alot perverted and disturbed coworker for making me drudge up disgusting sexual references. Anyways, addressing the disbelief section before the horrific side story, they would always look at me like "Wait, you're a girl, you should be eating salads or cute little sandwiches, not big burritos full of meat." Well, I'm sorry, but if i haven't eaten all day and my lunch break is really more of a dinner break I don't crave vegetables or petite things. I'm turning into a werewolf, give me a break. Apparently, I'm not a girl because I like food and could never pass for being a vegetarian even one day. Don't get me wrong, I love vegetables too, especially after I've had some beef, chicken, ham or turkey. I'm sorry. I'm a bad human being but at least I absolutely love broccoli. I'll have you know that I now eat chicken instead of steak on my burrito and I put corn and lettuce on it too. Everybody knows that that cancels out the sour cream, hot salsa, cheese and tortilla. Ha. That reminds of the people who order a hot dog, a large nachos with extra cheese and then start to order a small Pepsi, stop, and say, "You know what? Make it a large Diet Pepsi," then they laugh and pat themselves on the back or at least they would if they could even reach. Can you tell I used to work in a snackbar? Anyways, I'm sorry for the run-on sentences, the gross sexy cannibal stuff, and the fact that you might have to hide from me whenever there is a full moon. But hey, you know what? Things could be worse. Sometimes, if I have a shitty day, I don't need alcohol, I don't need drugs, I just need a g*ddamn burrito.

It's that time of the month, no, not THAT time, the other time...

Comic Strip of my impending change w/no nose apparently.

In the past year I've been going through some interesting personality changes. I'm 24 so, no, it's not puberty nor is it menopause. I could probably point out a few major stressful events in the last 12 months to have caused such drastic changes but I think we all know they would only be excuses used to cover up the truth; I'm slowly becoming a werewolf. I know what you're thinking, but Ivy, I thought werewolves need to be bitten to transform and it would only take a month at most, not an entire year. Well, sir or madame or both, you must be mistaken because obviously I am turning into one. Maybe I really do have a psychotic stalker and he/she is even more psychotic because he/she is a werewolf who finds ways to bite me in small increments without me realizing it. And since they are super small bites, he/she only uses two teeth in the process I guess, I am changing super slowly. It may only be a matter of a few more months before I'm a beastly lunatic on the prowl. I'm not entirely certain how these things work but somehow I'm certain I'm on the right track. You may call me paranoid, but we'll see who's f*cking paranoid when you see me running in the streets screaming that it's a full moon and I need to be locked up before I hurt somebody! Awkward. I have my reasons but I'll leave them for a later post. I'm just going to do a little more research. And if by research you think I mean watching Buffy, Supernatural, or reading Patricia Briggs then you are totally most possibly correct.

I do, in fact, have a nose. Don't judge me.

I swore I would never bring up personal drama in this blog but...

I'm in love with another. I tried things out for a while with you but I finally came to the conclusion that I could no longer keep up the charade. Goodbye old alarm clock (I shall name you Emerson). I admit that I was dazzled by your unique blue display but after even one night I knew it was too bright for my weary eyes. I know you wanted to keep me company but it should have been a sign when, having put you on the window ledge next to my bed, I turned you around so you were facing the window. I'm sure you thought I was relying on you as a bodyguard, warning off all my possible psychotic stalkers, of which there are none, that it was much too late to be stalking and they should really catch up on their sleep if they wanted to keep up that pathetic obsessive behavior. Really, Emerson? Denial much. You must have seen the clues. The fact that even when you were at your dimmest (which I assume your settings go from bright and brighter to bright as all f*ck rather than the low, medium, and high you display) I still turned you to medium then low then high and then back to low to see if there really was a difference and the switch wasn't just stuck. It was never stuck. You knew it. I knew it. We never talked about it. Hey, you can't change who you are and what sort of person would I be if I asked you to change? Not a very good one.

Emerson

I'm sorry Emerson. I found another alarm clock. I could lie and say it just happened. It was just chance that I wandered into the alarm clock aisle at Target. I was looking for a new lamp and took a wrong turn (please don't tell Trish, my tree lamp. I'm not looking to replace her, just an addition. You know how sensitive she gets). No, Emerson, I think we both know I made the decision to look a long time ago. You've been acting out for some time. I set your two alarms for 7am and 7:20am but they beep at me five minutes after I set them around 9pm. Sometimes 25 minutes. Why? I hit the snooze, I turn them off and then on, still you beep at me in an annoying tone, demanding that I turn you off altogether. I knew that you were unhappy then, when I started unplugging you and resetting you. It hurt you, but what could I do. I didn't really turn you on any more, not in the right way, and you never got me up (yes, I am a girl but it's still funny, damn it), at least in time for anything. You'd beep and beep late at night when I should be sleeping and then refuse to beep at 7am when I desperately need to be woken up. I finally decided you weren't for me, not even as a back up for my three phone alarms. We both know, Emerson, that I'm better at remembering to set an alarm like you than making sure the volume on my phone will allow its alarms to alert me. You wouldn't even compromise.

Cedric

I guess it must have really hurt you, me turning you away. Never wanting to look you in the face and being even less interested in your back. I pushed you away and so you acted out for attention. I get it. Now you get this, it's over. I'm sure you'll find someone at the thrift store I'm taking you to. Maybe someone will be charmed again by your blue display. Maybe they'll consider you a night light rather than an attention whore. I don't know but it's time to realize we're going our separate ways. I won't brag to you about Cedric, my "Colorations Electric Digital Alarm Clock" (Cedric sounded better than CEDAC). He only has one alarm if it makes you feel any better but I'm willing to look past it for his other traits such as his gentle yet distinct display of the time AND the date (whoops, sorry, I forgot you could only display the time). I suppose I'm shallow for being impressed by his many optional color displays (red, blue, violet, purple, yellow, aqua, and, yes, my favorite color, green). Did I mention that he will even allow me to turn off his backlight altogether while still keep vigilant track of the time? He is simpler, has fewer buttons, and alerts me only with an adorable ascending alarm tone not a blaring radio with a bad signal. I understand him a little more I think. Perhaps you were too advanced for my needs. He gets me. I get him. That's really all that matters. We'll have our issues I'm sure. I might even move on from him eventually but for now he suits my needs and we're comfortable with each other. There really just is no comparison.

No contest

Farewell dear Emerson. May your future shine brightly in a direction far far away from me. <3


I wish you the best,

-Amanda

Note (for psycho stalkers only) - If you are a psychotic stalker (of me or another) know this, there is something incredibly wrong with you. It's not flattering, funny or cute. It's creepy and I won't hesitate to call the cops on you if I find you out. This includes stalking on the internet. Get outside, make some friends, and stay far away from your terrified obsessions. And don't try the stupid vampire romance card, it's even creepier and more pathetic. We are not food nor eye candy. We will never date you or long for you, we will throw things at you and call the authorities in between bouts of unflattering vomiting. Thank you for your time and consideration in reading this message, now go the f*ck away.

Note (for every one else) -  You'll notice that Emerson and Cedric are male names and Trish is female. I never discriminate between sexes when it comes to naming inanimate objects (and before a few of you jokers start, no, I do not actually have in any form a sexual relationship with any inanimate objects. That's what she said. *high five*).

Death becomes her

So, I'm dying. Or rather, I have a cold or a flu or perhaps it is a hybrid. It started the day I wrote my last post. I woke up that morning with an odd feeling in my throat (I know what you're thinking but this is not a "that's what she said" moment, though props for thinking it *high five*). My throat wasn't sore but it didn't feel right. I knew all of that day that I would wake up the next morning without a voice and feeling exhausted. It's a dreadful thing knowing that you are probably going to be sick and miserable for a week. No matter how much Vitamin C I had I knew there was no stopping it. I was just going to have to wait it out. I wake up every morning and drink tea and eat a bowl of oatmeal. It helps the symptoms but not the mentality.

Be amazed by my MS Paint drawing skills. I call this one" BAMF with a cold."

As you've probably gathered from my last post I think a little bit too much about what-ifs. If I didn't think about zombies and demons it would probably be about bombs and explosions. Somehow zombies seem more comforting, at least I can hide or defend myself. However, when I'm sick, there is no comfort. As I'm lying there, muscles sore for no apparent reason, struggling to breath, annoyed that I have to pee for the third time in what seems like only an hour, I know I am in no shape to defend myself. Even if I were to hide, the coughing and sneezing would most likely give me away. And if the zombie epidemic begins from a virus then I might be mistaken for a zombie which could never end well. You never really see the badass heroes take down zombies while under a massive cold or flu virus themselves. They could be missing a limb or just recovering from surgery but you don't see them fighting off zombies while trying to stop sneezing. Maybe that's how they ended up with a missing limb.

Too sick to care or too sick to be scared?

Of course, dealing with a demon or ghost would just be annoying. When I'm sick my dreams are amplified and vivid. I might as well be hallucinating for all I can tell what is real. I think I hear voices as I'm going to sleep or waking up. If I weren't dying I'd be nervous and most likely creeped out. When I'm sick I just cough at it and mumble "Go away." It's incredible how what could be interpreted as brave or fearless is really just sick and grumpy. And with that I leave you so I can find some more tissues.

Zombies, demons and ghosts, oh my!

So, something happened last night that caught me unaware. The electricity went out. It couldn't have lasted longer than a half an hour. It shouldn't have made much of an impact. I was going to bed anyway. Nevertheless, I couldn't escape the uneasy feeling that the zombie apocalypse had come and there I was just sitting in the dark like an idiot without access to a machete. For a moment I was calm, I couldn't hear any groaning, shuffling, or gross flesh eating noises. This had to be a good sign. Then I sprung up with the realization that it was altogether too quiet. My lights flickered weakly for a moment as if the power was trying its darnedest to come back on. It didn't, of course, it was just a tease. I had been mistaken. This was obviously ghost activity. Or worse, a demon... I've always been pretty sure that a demon or ghost likes to hang out in my room on occasion and terrorize my cat but that's a story for another time. It had decided to come for me at last.

I stumbled to my door and called out to my parents downstairs (Yes, I'm 24 and still living with my parents. It's CA. What did you expect in this economy?). They answered quickly and calmly. If anything they sounded amused. I didn't know how to tell them that a demon, ghost, or zombies were heading our way. No need to cause a panic. They'd find out soon enough. I heard the front door close downstairs. My dad had gone outside. Apparently he went out to his car to check the radio and look for his cell phone to use as a light. We must own a dozen flashlights but half of them have dead batteries and we haven't a clue where to look for the rest. Hence, we used the light from our cell phones which are not very illuminating at all. My dad got back inside (I was thankful he wasn't bitten or attacked) informing us that there was nothing on the radio about it and that our street was out but the neighbors behind us still had power. Then I noticed a bright blue/white light outlining my parent's bedroom door.

I hadn't been prepared for aliens. Should I be friendly or attack them with a partially empty bottle of water? I yelled downstairs to my mom that there was a light in her room and it was too bright to be coming from the neighbors behind us. She had no idea what it could be but thought I should check it out. Fantastic. WWNDD (What Would Nancy Drew Do)? I slowly walked to it, certain that I was acting like the morons in horror films I'm always yelling at on screen for being so foolish. Brave and stupid, I nudged it open softly. It was one of those emergency flashlights you plug into the wall that turn on when the electricity dies. Obviously it was most useful in the room that no one would be in unless they were asleep as opposed to the hallway that would light up multiple rooms and the stairs. I grabbed it and shone it downstairs like a beacon. My dad ran upstairs and I handed him the light and went to my room grumbling and stumbling with stubborn clumsy dignity. I finally made it to my bed and laid down, fumbling with the covers for a few minutes. Once under the covers and resigned to waiting for any distressing noises, I let out a breath and the lights came back on. Yep. I'm pretty sure it was a demon. Bastard.