I'm not homeless, I just have a general disregard for personal hygiene

Congratulate me- I took my car in for an oil change. (This doesn't seem like the biggest deal to those who don't know me, so let me explain).  I saw this as a totally grown-up thing to do as I was preparing to drive my car across the freaking country.* I took time last Saturday, went to the mechanic, and had my oil changed. As I drove away, the breaks went out. Whoops. I had my car towed back to the mechanic after they were already closed Saturday night, which sets the scene for Sunday's event. (In case you wondering what an oil change had to do with me being mistaken for a vagrant).

Desperately in want of something to eat (but having no car to pick it up and nothing in my kitchen to cook with) I walked to the drug store near my home. I picked out a diet coke, a frozen pizza, and some diapers for Maude which I paid for with all of the loose change found around the home while packing.** Immediately after I finished paying I began to laugh manically, but after realizing that laughing to yourself wasn't super normskies, I tried to explain to the puzzled cashier that I had just bought a frozen pizza and had nothing to cook it on or cut it with. He didn't seem to find me as funny as I found me.

 Complete Stranger in the parking lot (CS): "Ma'am, do you live near here?" 

Me: "Yea, sure. I stay nearby." (Thinking I shouldn't tell her my house was around the corner, stranger danger and all that).

CS: "Well, my church has a program to help people like you". 

Me: "Oh, I'll be fine. I have a way to heat it up, and I can get creative with everything else!" (Figuring she was offering to help me with the frozen pizza dilemma).

CS: "Well we have a program that can help you get clean, find a job and a place to live..."

Me: "No worries, my friend is picking me up for work tomorrow morning, and I still have a place to live" (Clearly not getting it). 

CS: "We can even help you find some new clothes"

Me: "What's wrong with my clothes?" 

CS: "You are wearing long sleeves and pants in layers, and it's over 80 degrees out". 

Me: "I'm a redhead, I burn easily".

At this point I turned to leave, she reached into her wallet and tried to hand me money, which I declined as I walked up and into the woods. I chose to meander in the trees for a bit,  because I didn't want this weirdo following me to my house. It wasn't until ten minutes later that I replayed the conversation and realized that the woman thought I was a drug addict, and homeless, and probably hiding a young baby in the woods- due to my purchasing Maude's diapers.

How does this always happen to me? *** Admittedly, I had been packing up my house and walking around in high heat, so I wasn't very clean or smell goody. I also paid for my mini-mart purchases in spare change, which probably didn't help the scenario. But dude, didn't she see my glasses?****

Next time this happens I should probably take the money. I am a musician, after all, and am never far from asking for handouts anyways. 


*Planning, thinking ahead, and giving any thought or consideration towards automobiles are not things I normally do well. Mommy wow, I'm a big kid now!

**Which I carried in a basket. That's not weird at all. I carried a basket to the mini-mart, as opposed to loading all of the nickels and dimes into my purse and counting them from there.

***I say "this" in reference to ridiculous encounters with complete strangers. I do not use "this" in reference to being mistaken for a homeless druggy, because that was the first time it has ever happened to me. I'd like to say first and only, but let's just say first for now.

****MegRo and I play a lovely game called homeless or hipster. At times the only way you can tell them apart is that the hipster carries an iphone and the vagrant carries a sign. And the glasses. Hipsters wear glasses.*****

*****Not that I'm a hipster. But I do wear glasses. That's all I meant. I'm not a hipster. I'm not.

When someone helps you move, the polite thing to do is immobilize them in plastic... right?

"How am I a 27 year old woman that doesn't own a matching set of glasses, but has a shot glass from every state and seven cookie sheets?" - A worthy question from a worthy Sister as we pack up our kitchen.

I am facing my last week in my lovely little home in the Wood. Not that this matters to most of you, as most of my readers and friends are spread across the country/globe/universe. I can hear you questioning now "Oh shoot, is this going to be sentimental nonsense instead of a funny story?" The answer is a resounding NO! I just wanted to share this awesome picture of the TDS* wrapped up in mover's plastic wrap.

She came to the house and spent hours helping us pack asking for nothing but the nickels and dimes she found on the floor**, and we rewarded her by wrapping her up and taking photos. Lovely.

This is my last week in this little state, and then my adventures will be coming to you via the road between here and San Francisco!

*Third Durham Sister. We have accepted her as one of us.

**She did ask for wine, which also seemed reasonable. However when I returned with a cheap white we realized that the kitchen had already been packed. The most logical thing to do? Unpack the kitchen boxes until we find a corkscrew, drink the wine, repack the kitchen boxes. Not the most brilliant plan, but definitely the most rewarding.

Turns out, my sister's not a murderer

Before you get too involved with the post, please consider how similar these two pictures are: 

 It's no secret that Maude and Sister don't get along very well. One of them consistently calls the other mean names while the other habitually urinates on the former's carpet. (See if you can figure out which is which...) I love them both, and usually try to stay out of whatever feud it is that they have had running for the past two years.*

Yesterday was a banner day for the two of them. Maude somehow broke free of her kennel, broke out of her diaper**, broke into Sister's room and defecated*** throughout. Sister was a little angry and told me she was going to "kill my dog", a threat I've heard before and never taken to heart. I told her she should be impressed that my severely handicapped dog was so handicapable.

Some hours later, Katie sends me a text warning me not to park in the driveway. When I ask her why, she sent a very disturbing text:

(Warning. This photo has been blurred to protect you from the gruesome image that appeared on my phone screen).

Holy smokes, my sister actually killed my dog! I knew she was mildly passive aggressive, but this was just downright cruel! Just yesterday I had seen Maude in the same position and found her pathetic and adorable: 

To make what could be an episode of Judge Judy short- the animal in our driveway was a rabbit. And it was dead when she got there. Sister has once again evaded the iron hammer of the law by doing nothing wrong. If you could zoom in on the picture that I blurred, you would see a large pair of rabbit ears, just like I saw when I zoomed in on the text. But you can't zoom in, because I don't want to put a picture of blood and guts on my blog. That stuff is yucky, and this isn't that type of blog.

Some of you may ask why I just spent a whole twenty minutes typing a story about how I thought for a split second that my sister killed my dog. Why is this worth your time? Why did you bother reading to the end? I'll tell you: Think what a good story it is now that she didn't actually die.  You just had all of the joy of reading a story of sibling rivalry, revenge, and animal cruelty- but nothing bad actually happened at the end so you don't have to feel sad. Louisa May Alcott wishes she had written this story!

*I know what the feud is over. I'm pretty sure it is about me. They both want to be the center of my attention and for me to take constant care of them. Yea, that's probably it.

**Because my dog is not only blind and deaf, but she wears a diaper. Only yesterday she didn't. 

***Somebody should give me an award for using the medical term instead of something juvenile. I could have used any number of words****, but I chose to stay above bathroom humor. 

****Words I could have used instead of "defecated", were I less mature: feces, stool, poop, doo doo, turd, mud cake, dookie, dump, deuce, load, butt mud... but I didn't use any of those. Yay me.

My sister finally killed my dog... but Maude lives on!

First and foremost, thank you for all of the wonderful birthday presents/texts/songs/and statements. Here are a few of my favorites in each category...

Sung Voicemails: 
1). 
(To the tune of "Call Me Maybe")
Hey Molly its Jill. And it is Sunday. And I am calling, to say Happy Birthday! I know you're 25, but don't you worry. It's a good age, so Happy Birthday!

2). 
Well here's a cheerful little ditty for you birthday:
Happy Birthday. Uh. Happy Birthday. Uh.  People dying everywhere, misery and dark despair but Happy Birthday. Uh.
And many happy returns.

Spoken Voicemails:
1).
Hey buttface I was just calling to say Happy Birthday. So, Happy Birthday.

2). 
Well I hope you have had a great birthday, if you chose to celebrate it. Because sometimes you like to pretend it didn't happen. If we are pretending, then ignore this message.

Texts: 
1.)
You did it! You were birthed, way to go.

2).
I'm texting you to say Happy Birthday even if you aren't celebrating again this year. Because not celebrating is dumb. I don't mean you're dumb, just some of the things you do and think. Hope this made your day a bit brighter. 


What great friends and family I have! I love/hate how my friends like to recognize that I don't like celebrating birthdays by calling me to talk about it.* The only thing missing was my annual text from Wham Bam with my face in a plate of bacon.**

There were a few not so great things about my birthday. Like how we left our first establishment and Sister had blood on her shirt that was definitely not hers.**** Or how some moron fell on the dance floor and got his adult beverage in my eye. Or how I got ridiculous flowers from some idiot I dated a few months back.*****

No matter though, my birthday was truly spectacular- I even got to see RY and his fabulous AY! Everything was going swimmingly until the next day when Sister killed Maude.This post has gotten a bit long though... I'll have write that story in the next installment!



*Not that I've ever been accused of being too dramatic, but I think my life ended after my 21st birthday. After all who was it that said "You're almost 16, you become 21, you turn 30, you push 40, you reach 50, you make it to 60". Aging is awful and I want no part in it. I've decided to stay 21 forever.

**He used to text it to me every birthday. I didn't get it this year and a piece of me died. (But a significantly smaller piece than the piece of me that dies seeing a picture of myself asleep in an IHOP booth at 3 am with my face in a plate of bacon)***

***Don't judge the things that happen after a long night of karaoke! 

****Guh-ross. I don't know that we'll ever know who's blood it is. I do know that she is surprisingly adept at getting blood out of her shirt in a bathroom. Makes you wonder how many bar fights she's been in!

*****I guess when I said "Never contact me again", I must have added in, "Unless it's to send me flowers on my birthday". I've gotta stop doing that!******

****** Seriously though, the card was signed "Star crossed love". I mean, it has been awhile since I read R&J, but I'm pretty sure they weren't together because of circumstances out of their control- not because one of them was married and the other one found out and peace'd out asap. Should I brush up on my Billy Shakespeare before I head back to school?

Because all 5 year olds love Sandi Patty

A beautiful quote from RY:

"When you don't blog, i ask myself "is her life reduced to utter boringness, such that she doesn't have anything to share, or is she just too busy for her fans, as she will be once she hits the big time?"

 

I usually choose the later, because I have all of the faith that cray cray stuff still happens, even when there is no one in the forest to hear the tree fall". 

Well put RY. It does happen, a lot of it. Sometimes there just isn't enough time to write down all of the crazy shtuff that happens in my life. Sometimes there aren't words to describe certain life events. And sometimes I am trying to reduce my online presence due to an online stalker. And sometimes I exaggerate. (But rarely, so very rarely).

I have every intention of writing how Kho walked in to find me squatting over Sister's face and rolling her back and forth on a foam noodle while singing Coldplay, but that's tomorrow's little gem. Today I plan on giving you, fair reader*, 3 snippets and vignettes to update the past few days.

1. The conversation between myself and That Woman 
Me: My voice teacher wants me to learn Carmen. I don't know that I can do it. I don't know that I can be seductive.
TW: Of course you can.
Me: I mean, I know I can be seductive, I'm just not sure if I can do it on stage. Oh crap, I just said that to my mother.

This was followed by a conversation about Doris Day singing "Bushel and a Peck", after which I had to hang up. I mean, there were just so many "Bushel and a Peck" jokes I was dying to make- and couldn't see myself making them to my mother! I can't make them on here either, since she reads this blog. Somebody please call me and bring up this song so I can share the slew of jokes I've conjured! 

2.  The hour and a half conversation I had with my bank customer service rep.*** During this phone call I learned the etymology of his name, how he thought he was Elvis in his former life, and how his dream is to work at Graceland- because he thinks that the Elvis inside him wants to return home. This phone call was only cut short because his supervisor got on the line and asked if I needed any further assistance. Did I need any further assistance? YES!!! I needed another hour to talk to this man and learn all of his fascinating crazy. Unfortunately, the call ended. (But now I can say that I met Elvis, which is pretty darn cool!)

3. My last concert as a teacher has become increasingly ridiculous due to my own whims. It started by assigning a class of fourth grade scholars a yodeling song. (In the name of world music, of course). It continued when I added instruments to the choir's song. (A washboard, musical spoons, a train whistle, slide whistles, and kazoos****). Now the concert will be further enhanced by the final song sung by all scholars. They are performing a piece by the one and only... Sandi Patty. Complete with sign language. Somebody stop me before I hurt myself. Or them.

Anywho, it's getting late and I have a big day of yodeling and washboarding to do, so I will see you all tomorrow for my own made for TLC rehab***** story. Get pumped.



*I say "fair reader" to presume you are fair as in impartial, not fair as in beautiful. I assume you are in fact partial, or you wouldn't be reading my blog. I can't, however assume you are beautiful. You could be rather homely and still be reading my blog. Or James Blunt could have written a song about you. I don't know and I don't really care**. You all have inner beauty, blah, blah, blah.

**I would care if James Blunt wrote a song about you. I really detest James Blunt.

***Due to the supposed fraudulent activity on my credit card. It wasn't fraudulent activity. It was spur of the moment online shopping in the middle of the night after watching too many infomercials. I feel slightly judged by Wells Fargo.

****I've said it before, the kazoo is my favorite instrument. Fun, silly, easy to play. All children and adults should on a kazoo.

*****Rehab as in for a back injury. How dare you think anything else!

An adventure without the "mis"- who knew?

RY is pressuring me to update my blog*, and I've been meaning to... but I've just been so darn busy! Many of you are itching to know what my life's been like for the past few days, and you should know that it has been absolutely fabulous. (No scary or embarrassing encounters, sorry to disappoint). I was invited to Hometown to sing in a concert with some of the most talented people I know, which was nerve-racking, thrilling, honoring, and humbling. It was great to see some of my Eastern friends again, and to hear the deep voice of Fearless Leader telling me to save my voice. I can't wait for the next opportunity to perform with this group again!

Events in the past four days:
Parties: 4 (maybe 5 if you count a late night of pizza and prosecco at a mansion, which I do. So 5) 
Concerts: 1 (unless you count singing at the parties, because then it would be 5.  But I don't. So 1)
Glasses of champagne: ???
Peking Ducks: 13 (all in one night, which is just pretty awesome)
Reviews in the Hometown Post: 1
New Friends: 1,000,000
Grad School Offers: 2

So yeah, it's been a pretty awesome weekend.

I promise to write more soon, but now I just want to curl up and listen to the rain and some Miles Davis- if ya know what I mean.***

*Because he's a pusher. He pushes people to do things.**
**Yep, awesome MG's mention. Someday somebody will be sorry for showing me that movie, because I pretty much live by it now!
***Which most of you don't. To those of you that do, well, it's true. Shame on me, I know.

I want an exclamation point in my name too!

Hidden away in a corner covered with trees in the Kroger parking lot near my house is a Souper! Salad* that nobody knows about. Or maybe some people know about it. I just stumbled into this delicious buffet and thought it was a secret. This Sunday I was too lazy to put real clothes after a long day of cleaning, so I threw on my favorite workout shorts (the ones with the built-in underwear**) and a t-shirt to run to the grocery store. It was then that I saw the fated Souper! Salad, filled to the brim with beautiful young men all in work out clothes like me! (Let's just disregard the fact that they were in workout clothes because they had just come from the 20 mile trail that ends right in the Souper! Salad's parking lot).

I should point out my love of salad bars. Yes, the food has been sitting there for hours. Yes, there are always way too many olives and not enough tomatoes. Yes, the bread is stale, the pepperoni is warm and the soup has scary objects in it. Yes, yes, yes. You can say whatever you want about them, but I love them. Maybe I love that I can make whatever I want without the prep work- cutting vegetables is boring, yo. Maybe I like that I can try something, decide I don't like it, get a new plate and try something else.  Maybe they remind me a little bit of college and that fabulous awkward freshmen year cafeteria. (Which at my performing arts college was always a little too reminiscent of FAME. I mean, do we have to break out into song at every moment? Do you really need to practice that dance lift in line for the taco bar? Do you really need to eat a taco just so you can barf it up later?) Whatever the reason(s), I love a good/bad/decent salad bar.

...

There's a lot more to this story, but I'm going to have to leave it as a cliffhanger. I'm too distracted by the battery warning on my computer. I'm pretty sure my computer is a woman, and she is most definitely surfing the red wave right now.*** One second she tells me that I have 55 minutes left to dilly-dally on the interwebs, the next I have three hours. This shouldn't be a big deal, but it is so distracting I find myself staring at the darn icon waiting to see what she will do next.

You think tv is interesting? You enjoy going out and spending time with friends? You like taking your dog to the park? That's cool, I don't judge. I like sitting and staring with utter fascination at my computer screen and waiting for the battery light to change.****



*Any place bold enough to put an exclamation point in the middle of their name must be amazing. This is common sense.

**If you don't have a pair of these- buy them now. They save time and effort; Save space in the laundry, they're uber comfortable, and it's half the hassle of real underwear. I wish all of my pants had built in underwear. And skirts, and dresses. Life would be so much simpler.

***Yea, I said that. If I am going to assign gender to random inanimate objects then I get to decide when they are on the rag.

****Oh goodness, I need more grad auditions to keep me occupied. I don't know what to do with my time now that I am free from the noose of auditions.*****

*****Yes I do. I have three new pieces to learn for a concert this Saturday. I should be learning music. My bad.

I might meet my husband on craigslist, and he might be a cannibal- you never know.

I love reading the "missed connections" on craigslist. It is one stop on the long track of diversions I use to keep myself from doing real work. (Along with #myfriendsaremarried, suri's burn book, and the bloggess)* I stop by and read posts by all of the pseudo-stalkers about the women they think they might be in love with that they saw a year and a half ago at a gas station... it cracks me up. These people are seriously crazy, and I like knowing I'm not the only one.

Usually I read a couple mc's and then continue on with my day, but today was different than all the rest. Today I found my own pseudo-stalker. Today some crazy wrote a missed connection about me. (Why can't I lead a normal life? Because then you would have nothing to read about, that's why).

If you read it you know they can literally only be talking about me. Diet coke, cookie dough and lean pockets? For heavens sake, those are the three staples of my well balanced diet!

I just got back from a lovely evening with the KinderGuru and my Work Wife. They shared their sordid dating tales of late, and I shared the above. Strangely enough, they have decided I should respond. What if I meet the love of my life from this craigslist post?*** What if we tell our grandchildren the story of how he contacted me and the world wide web helped us find one another?**** What if he kidnaps me and chops me into a million little pieces and serves me as a stew in a local soup kitchen?*****

In other news, I had my eyebrows threaded today. DON'T DO IT, it hurts worse than getting a tattoo. Eyebrows and a craigslist stalker- so yeah,  that about sums up my week.


*Truth be told I started writing this blog post an hour ago. I went to look at the list of websites I like to look at when I'm avoiding things and then all of the sudden an hour has gone by and I remembered that I had an actual thing to do. The internet is like one giant oubliette of information.**

**That makes sense in my head, but it probably doesn't in yours. Good thing this is my blog. So there.

***That's not going to happen.

****That's definitely not going to happen.

*****That could probably happen.

No one should judge me for my consumption of Hot Pockets

 I love when people give me flowers (maybe that's the true reason I want to perform*). I love getting gifts. I love my students. So, pretty much when my boss gets me flowers and my students give me gifts you'd think I'd feel appreciated... right? Not wrong, but it ain't right either.

After today's concert (which was amazing, btwubs- if you haven't watched this yet, stop reading a watch!) members of my choir came up to me with their parents with a few armfuls of Walmart bags.

Student: "Ms. H- we wanted to get you something, so we pooled our money together and got you these."

 ...As I open three bags full of Hot Pockets**...

Me: "Thanks guys- that is really thoughtful of you."

Student: "We knew you'd like it. My mom said it was weird, but I told her that you would say not to judge other people for their personal choices, as we are all members of the choir community and are supposed to support each other."

...As my jaw hangs open and I think I might cry...

Parent: I didn't say it was weird that she likes Hot Pockets. I said it was weird for you guys to buy her a bunch of Hot Pockets. Nobody could possibly eat that many Hot Pockets.

Me: "Actually, I totally will. I really love Hot Pockets." (cue my spiel on the many merits of HP's)

Parent: "Ok, that's a little weird."

I also got flowers from the principal, several homemade cards, and a Starbucks gift card with $8.04 on it. Kids are so weird!!!****

In other news, I have started receiving grad school offers- and I'm not done with all the auditions yet. It seems pretty promising, but I'm sure I'll find a way to biff it all up! I have another one this weekend- thinks good thoughts for me as I drive into the longest state, the state responsible for thick accents, Graceland, Dolly Parton and wearing too much orange. Make way, Rocky Top!


*It's not the true reason I perform. It is an added benefit, for sure. But I am in no way subjecting myself to a life of constant struggle and rejection so that I can get a few stems at the end of the night.

**How did they know I love Hot Pockets?***

*** It's not like I eat a HP every day for lunch during their class, giving them a play by play of the best flavors/styles. It's not like I sing the HP jingle every other time I take a bite. It's not like I taught them to sing the HP jingle in a 3 part harmony just for feces and laughter... Okay, maybe I actually, probably might have/definitely done all of those things. I can't help it that it is the most cost efficient, easily handled, most diverse frozen lunch option!

****And don't give me any of that non-judgement, choral community crap. I say it all the time, but on my own personal blog I have to admit that I teach some strange little children.

Yes they can!

Last semester my older students did a study on music and how it affects politics and social change. (That may or may not be normal for middle school choir to discuss, I'm not sure. Seeing as I have never had any training on being a middle school music teacher, sometimes I kind of wing it. Like most things in life). Out of all of things we studied, one of them was a video that will.i.am made* to (what I consider) one of the most inspiring speeches ever. If you haven't seen it, check it out here. 

This semester, while discussing the scholar's choice for the African American History Concert, they came to the consensus that they wanted to perform the speech from the video. Someday I'm going to tell my kids that their ideas are impossible, but apparently that day has yet to come. They wanted to figure out how to do it, and I decided to support them. (Because next to impossible tasks are my favorite ones!) This quickly went from a class idea to a whole school project. I was able to recruit another teacher who works part time as a videographer to shoot and edit it during our combined office hours, got all of the teachers to agree to let their kids be a part of it, and another colleague to give up her office for us to use. We all worked together to make this crazy video that my kids wanted to make!

The following is the video that will close our school program on Thursday, it will accompanied by my choir singing their own melody beneath it. I am so proud of the final product, and thankful to Vegan Lady for shooting/editing and J Jantz for recording the piano for us! I've worked really hard on this- I hope you like it!

http://vimeo.com/60775005

My kids are so awesome, I'm so proud!!!

*Because I love will.i.am. A lot. He's one of the most artistic main stream artists out there.

Things I probably should have learned years ago (that I just learned this weekend)

1. Light up heart necklaces are always in style*
2. When the ping pong balls come out, the cell phone goes away.
3. Every thing on Urban Dictionary is made funnier by Jr acting it out like a robot.
4. None of my friends think Philip Seymour Hoffman is attractive, and I don't understand why.

*My dad sent me a super kitsch necklace for a Valentine, but it didn't get here until yesterday. He told me to wear it anyways- it would always be in style.

What degree of murder is it if you just can't help it?

Yesterday was rather traumatic. On a scale of 1 to Depressing it was like a 4, but that's a lot for me!* On my way into work I ran over a squirrel. I'm pretty sure I killed it, and I felt terrible. Is it silly that over all of the stress in my life (grad school, moving, being sick, etc.) I am most upset over the instant death of an adorable defenseless woodland creature? I don't think so.

During my first class, my kids were more than a little worked up. I pleaded to their humanitarian sides by telling them I was in a bit of a sour mood due to the unintentional murder I had committed. I told them how he appeared in the middle of the street and how there were cars behind me and I couldn't stop... I told the tale to best of my ability and almost titled it "Death of a Squirrel"***. Most of the kids laughed at the tears welling in my eyes, a few asked if we could just start warm-ups, and a few sympathetic girls sighed dramatically- then we continued with our day.

I drove into work without harming any innocent creatures today, I should probably get a gold star. Unfortunately, this was sitting on my desk with a note that said: 

"Dear Miss H, I thought you'd like this".

What kind of sick and twisted child would do this?

What was the motive behind this twisted act? Was she trying to be supportive? Or has this child actually found my weakness? Did she mean to taunt me with the memory of those I have hurt? Or did she mean to comfort me? Should I be flattered or flabbergasted?

Either way, I have a lot more respect for this child. Thinking with the best intentions, I am touched that she thought of me and my feelings. With the worst intentions, I don't think I want to make her mad...

Happy weekend everybody, and may you all be given plush stuffed animals of anything you have accidentally killed!



*I'm like a young, white Bobby McFerrin**. I literally live with a constant soundtrack of DWBH playing.

**That's not true, I have nowhere near his talent or range. I just meant that I like to whistle and smile. Comparing myself to Bobby is like comparing Susan Boyle to Celine Dion. One is slightly awkward, and mildly talented... while Celine is the center or all things diva. I love Celine Dion.

***I would have, but thought Miller's people might sue for copyright infringements. I'm an opera singer who teaches at an inner city school as her day job, does it sound like I can afford copyright infringements.

A series of awkward pick-up lines

Last week I bought a new perfume because it was pretty and floral and I thought it would make me smell nice. I didn't realize that it attracted crazies like bees to a flower. (Maybe there is something to be said about crazies being like bees, as both flowers and perfume are floral. Or maybe I should have come up with a better metaphor, I'm not really sure...)

If you are my facebook friend, you have probably read a few of these already- as I have been flabbergasted and posted several as they arise. I think what's truly impressive/ terrifying is that they have all happened while wearing the new perfume. (Which makes me think I should burn the perfume).*

Crazy #1: While in the check out line at Wal-mart."Hey there, how are you doing? Can I get your number girl?"
(This doesn't seem that crazy, until you find out that he was in front of me at the check out counter at Wal-mart, at 9:30pm, on Valentine's day. He had- I kid you not- just bought a card, some chocolates, and some gross/cheap Wally World flowers. Seriously?)

Crazy #2: While buying a scratch ticket at the gas station** "Can I see some ID?" I show him. "Wow, you could totally pass for 16***. I get off in an hour, want to grab dinner?" (What? With some creeper who thinks I look 16? NO!!!!)

Crazy #3: While sitting on my flight to San Francisco."You're listening to Toto? That's my favorite band!Blah, blah, blah, (I'd already dismissed him)" I'm sorry, but 1. Why are you stalking my Ipod? And 2. Why would anybody admit to Toto being their favorite band? Both of these make me have to say a resounding no. Besides, I judge who would hit on me the way I look when I travel.****

Crazy #4:  While checking into my hotel. "Are you here for the convention? I'd love to dance with you later! Promise you'll save every dance for me?" (From the woman behind me at hotel check-in. Apparently while I was in town there was a LGBT Salsa Dance convention. And yes, I did end up going dancing*****, but not with her!) 

I'm not sure if I should be flattered by all the attention, or terrified. In the words of my stalker Ingrid- "Everybody wants to be loved,  but not by total creepers."****** I need to get rid of the perfume, right?



*No, I probably shouldn't do that. I'm pretty sure that is almost as dumb as lighting a can of hairspray on fire...

**A weird habit I picked up from That Woman. I buy them sometimes when I'm thinking of her.

***Liar, I couldn't. And I'm ok with that, 16 was an awkward and terrible age!

****You should see what I look like when I travel. I wear a face mask to prevent germs from others in the plane, and a scarf around my head to hide my ear buds from the flight attendants. I refuse to turn off my ipod for take-off/landing. All in all, I look like a hit man from Elton John's mafia.  Actually, I'll just show you...

This is from a summer road trip, pictured here with the lovely J-Jantz.Not pretty, on either count...

*****Of course, I went dancing- could you expect anything less? I will share more in my next post about my random adventures in SF... but not tonight.

****** (She may have left the second part out...)

Do all families have a Christmas Creeper Dance Party?

I called my brother today to wish him a happy birthday. I was extremely proud of myself for remembering it at all, let alone calling him about it.*

Somehow the conversation quickly turned from discussing his birthday plans to talking about my first boyfriend (in middle school, so it hardly counts) who now lives in L.A. and makes a killing as a cross dressing hip-hop artist. Why can I never have a normal conversation?****

Anyways- I decided to make up for the botched phone call with a birthday blog post!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SCOOTER! 

After looking at these photos, is there any doubt that this man is my brother???

*MegRo likes to point out that I am bad at remembering birthdays. She thinks that I forgot her birthday last year**, just because I called her and left her a message talking about my day. When I talked to her the next day and asked how she was, she said she's fine but was a little mad that I forgot her birthday. I countered with the fact that I called her and was upset that she didn't call me back so I could wish her a happy birthday.

** She's right, I totally forgot her birthday. I asked her today (while I was on a birthday roll) what day her birthday was this year. Her reply? "April 9th, same day as last year". With an attitude like that, I might "forget" it this year too. ***

*** I would never intentionally ignore somebody's birthday. But there is a strong chance I will forget it. I'm sorry in advance, MegRo. 

****It doesn't help that my brother is as goofy as me (or probably more so). When all four of us sibs are together, life gets pretty weird.*****

*****Four words: Christmas Creeper Dance Party. Unless all families spend Christmas night awkwardly dancing in the kitchen to the Beastie Boys, no?

A brief conversation between friends...

Me: What if I told you I did something that I know you would tell me not to do, but I did it anyways- would you judge me for it?

MegRo: Probably not...

Me: Alright, well I did something that I probably shouldn't have done.

MegRo: Dog fighting?*

*And this is why everybody should have a best friend like MegRo. Because apparently she wouldn't judge me even if I were a dog fighter.**

**Obviously I'm not a dog fighter. Rufus is too friendly, and Maude has been too near death for too long. Also, because it's bad. So, there's that.

How can I be a sociopath with Ingrid Michaelson around?

I'm pretty sure Ingrid Michaelson has a song for every occasion. Sometimes I listen to her songs and idly sing along, and then sometimes I need a good jam and remember the songs I've been singing since my senior year of high school. Thank you Ingrid Michaelson. It's like you looked into my future and wrote a song for every event in my life. But then I think, that's pretty creepy. In fact- that's super cray. I mean- did you contact a psychic and decide what my thoughts and feelings would be for my first kiss, first pet adoption, even songs for moving? AM I BEING PSYCHICALLY STALKED BY A B LIST INDIE MUSICIAN? DO I NEED A RESTRAINING ORDER FROM YOU, INGRID?  Although, I doubt you can get a restraining order from someone hypothetically writing songs about you... it's something to look into.

I'm currently planning another trip to San Francisco to sing this weekend, and listening to "Far Away". I'm super excited for this trip/move/new adventure. See- Ingrid must have known that when she wrote it. She knew I was going to be moving from one side of the country to the other, and decided to write a song to commemorate it!

Oh yeah, you're probably wondering where the sociopath label fits in, aren't you?

After a long conversation with MegRo yesterday, she became increasingly concerned by my lack of concern for recent events in my life.* You'd think that your best friend would enjoy laughing on the phone with you for an hour or so, but mine laughed at my jokes while questioning my sanity. So much so that she googled an online test for sociopaths, took it (answering as she assumed I would answer), and after taking all 10 questions** she came to the conclusion that I was a potential sociopath. Rude.

I mean, I might be emotionally dead inside- but I definitely didn't kill kittens when I was a child. (Although I did let my canary Elton John*** die, but I swear that was an accident). I find it pretty impossible to go throwing around terms and labels, when I listen to Ingrid Michaelson. The way I see it, I don't need to express my feelings when she has already done it for me. Duh.

Besides, shouldn't we worry about MegRo's sanity? She's the one that filled out the test....******


*See prior blogpost, it's kind of a doozy

** Yes, it apparently only takes 10 multiple choice questions to make you worthy for an episode of Criminal Minds.

***Of course that was his name. What else do you name a yellow singing bird who's favorite thing in life was his 70's flowered mirror? I'm apparently constantly attracted to gay men. ****

****Of course I'm talking about RY***** here, as he always thinks my blog is about him anyways... who were you thinking of?

*****As I type this latest installment I am gchatting with RY. He is baking brownies and completely failing. So far he put in 1 1/2 times the amount of oil it said, and decided he could override the excess by putting some brown sugar in it, where he discovered a lump of bread in the brown sugar. This is of course going to end in disaster- maybe we can convince him to spend his day off writing a guest blog? He is one of the funniest men in the world and so pretty!!!

******She'd kill me if I left that unresolved. MegRo is not a sociopath, or a killer, or anything bad. If I had to describe her in images it would be a rabble of butterflies floating past good ol'ROY G. BIV*******

*******Yes, I still say ROY G BIV even though scientists have recently refused to recognize indigo. I refuse to let the man loose the vowel in his last name. ROY G BV is just silly and sounds like a tacky, uneducated, backwoods trucker (and nothing good comes from truckers- do you watch tv?). I don't want MegRo's butterflies to fly past that, it would ruin everything!!!

First audition of what feels like a million

 The time has come my loves and little ones... Audition Day!  I am sitting in the lobby of my first audition waiting for my practice room. You might think I would be focusing on my music and going over it my head (and over it and over it) but my give a shit quotient is at an all time low. Instead of looking over my music and wondering how I can possibly sing it all without peeing my pants,  I am listening to this and writing to entertain you all.

This may be the best tactic ever. I may go into the audition room an hour from now and feel like an absolute balla', or I might bomb it. Either way, we'll know in an hour!

Seriously though, I have already checked in at multiple locations, met with my accompanist, warmed up in the shower, reviewed the tricky bits of all of my pieces, sang through the high notes of my opening piece, drank a poop ton of tea/water, snacked on a granola bar,  checked myself in the mirror to make sure I am as beautiful as I remember/not a vampire, and put hairspray on my hair and panty hose (so neither fall out of place). Will someone please tell me what else to do? Because I can't possibly have all my shit this together...

Oh well, off to obsess somewhere else...

Toi, toi, toi to my self- because I know you all would say it if you had the chance!

I wanted to say Happy New Year, but my face is broken so I can't.

Congratulations everybody, we all made it to 2013. Many of you are probably proud of yourselves for sticking past the first day of your resolutions, hopefully nobody decided to add "spend less time on the interwebs" or "read less blogs by crazy opera singers with not much to say" to your list.*

I'd like to say that 2013 will be filled with less shenanigans on my part, but I decided not to lie to people on my blog. (REAL LIFE- HECK YES. BLOG- NEVER!) Besides, with 7 auditions coming up** I know that the madness and disturbing tales are sure to accompany. What I didn't know was that my New Years would be spent with double vision and losing an eye due to my broken face. Too much too soon? Let's pull a Julie Andrews and start at the very beginning...

I used to love my ex-roomie RY. Look at how cute we are getting ready to celebrate the end of 2012:

This love ended at 12:13 am January 1st, 2013. This is the moment when I knew that 2013 was going to be rocky and scary, and I will blame all of the years misfortunes on the above man. "What did he do?" asks you the reader. I'll tell you-HE MENTIONED THIS BLOG TO MY NEW YEARS DATE (NYD) !!!**** You might be asking "What's the big deal?" or "Why all of the secrecy?". But that's because you fall into one of two categories: 1.) People who know me so freaking well they expect the awkward word vomit that I like to call a blog (aka my mom, Maude, and Megro), or 2.) Some rando who doesn't matter much to me. I didn't mean that, you all matter to me! I just meant that you are probably someone I was in choir with in 7th grade who found my shameless plug for my blog through facebook. You totally matter to me old choir friend/jv football player I went to homecoming with/ and dentist of my step-dad!*****

Point being, NYD does not fall into one of the two categories. He is slowly getting to know me, which is probably wise, because quickly getting to know me can be overwhelming. Not that I want to hide my personality from him, I just don't want him to know that I hate showering and can't do it properly without a beer, or that I frequently order so much takeout they assume that it is for a large party, or that I am paranoid that Maude is dead and check on her at all hours of the day... crap like that needs to be shared in small doses. Luckily RY caught my laser death glare****** before he gave out the blog's name. Hopefully NYD won't see this, or he will most likely not contact me again. On the other hand, if he reads it and still contacts me, I will think he is a freak for wanting to talk to the same girl who wrote a freaking love letter to Chipotle and won't want to talk to him again. Maybe he will contact me and not mention anything about the blog, and then I'll grow increasingly suspicious over whether he has read it and refuses to mention it. Why won't he mention it? Does he not think I'm funny? Is he trying to be sneaky? Why should I go on a date with someone who doesn't like my stinking blog? Or what if he doesn't look it up? WHAT KIND OF JERK DOESN'T READ THE BLOG OF THE GIRL HE TOOK OUT FOR NYE? ... I could go on with this line of questioning for awhile, but you can see from the above that I am damned if he does, damned if he don't. (And crazy. You can see that I'm slightly crazy).

And now you see why RY's subtle mention of my blog was the first disaster of 2013. The second was when my sister broke my face (by accident) while she was suffocating me on couch (on purpose). 

I'd like to write more about that, but this post is already too long. Also, my face is swelling up and the vicodin is kicking in, but I promise to give the full account of my brush with death******* tomorrow, complete with more pictures like this: 

Notice the swelling and the death? This story is actually worse than usual... look out folks! Til tomorrow! (Or some other awesome phrase that sounds like a wicked cool cliffhanger!)
  


* I myself have made no New Years Resolutions. In part because I am too lazy, part because I forgot, part because I believe that you should make positive changes in your life no matter what time of the year it is, and part because I am just so stinking awesome I have no need for change<---Yea, I said that.

** Yes, I got 8/8 auditions from applications. Now instead of getting a friendly PFO in the mail, I have to fly to a foreign city to get rejected. Opera auditions are like the worst case of online dating ever,  like the type of crap they would put on To Catch a Predator... "The victim was convinced to fly across the freaking country for a ten minute interview and was never heard from again, because what kind of idiot flies thousands of miles and pays thousands of dollars to get rejected after 10 minutes? The kind of idiot that would fall for an online murder scammer guy!"***

*** I realize that my logic may be flawed here, but it made sense when I started typing and then I got too lazy to delete it and start over. Maybe that should be a resolution, actually go back and edit your work...

**** I refuse to say any more about this man, so don't ask. I'd like to say it is because I protect people's identities on my blog, but really it is because I don't want to give my family any ammunition when they start teasing. Last time I told them I was dating somebody was 6 years ago, and when they found out that he was planning on going into seminary they had my nephews refer to the man as "Uncle Father" for years. (Even though we only dated for months).  Teasing is a blood sport in my family, and I have to protect myself! 

***** I don't know why I said that. I panicked. I don't have a step-dad. My dad is awesome and has been married to my mom for a really long time. Like, almost twice my age long. (But not really twice my age. Closer to twice my age than half my age, so, twice sounds better).

****** This is Rufus's laser death glare. This is pretty much what I looked like to RY when he was blabbing about my personal brand of cray-cray to one of the last men on Earth who didn't know I was fucking psycho.

*******I just realized that this story better be really good, because nothing fabulous happened in this post. (Besides that dress I'm wearing). <--- Yea, I said that too.

********This has little to do with anything above, except the fact that I think I use too many footnotes, or maybe just too many to continue to use asterisks (astri?). For real though, 8 is a bit much. Maybe in my next post (the last one I write before I die from my face falling off) I will use a number system. But not in chronological order, because that would be hard to remember. Plus, it will be like a game to find the right footnote number.