Four Things Week Three

     I have been attempting to write this for the past couple of days, but I wanted to tie up the loose strings before writing about these things.  For instance you can probably already see by the first header that I have quit smoking in the past week.  I didn't want to say I had done that only to re neg on it a couple of days later.  I had to make sure that it would stick.  To be honest I probably would have kept you waiting if it hadn't have been for Kelli's glowing review of this Four Things series.  I would like to thank her publicly by stating that she is the best writer I know, with a talent that usurps mine greatly.  She is also probably nicer than I am, and is always willing to be the only other person I know that is willing to order more than one desert with me.  If you have never read her blog I couldn't possibly tell you in under three thousand words how fantastic it is, so go and find out for yourself.

This week I quit smoking.

     I should start this out by saying that I have an addictive personality.  If I find myself liking something, I can't ever seem to get enough of whatever that something may be.  If I like a sandwich at Quiznos I'll eat it every day for a week, for lunch (In case you were wondering my sandwich of choice is always a Chicken Carbonara on Rosemary Parmesan bread with extra jalapenos).  If I think a person is funny, I'll call them every single day and talk to them for hours at a time.  I can never seem to get enough of the things I like.  I guess what I'm saying is that I would make a good junkie.  I can honestly see myself with dark circles under my eyes, sweaty and even paler than I already am, just looking for my next fix.  I guess that's why I've never been much of a drinker, I've always assumed that if I have more than a couple of sips, I'd be dead within a week, my liver in shambles.

     It's just that I have always been too willing to give myself up to something, anything for a little bit of satisfaction.  I realize that with some things like my Quiznos obsession the only thing in danger is the credit limit on my Old Navy credit card because I will eventually have to start buying new clothes to accommodate my expanding waistline.  Though sometimes my addictions are more reckless.  I should have known better than to ever start smoking.  I could chalk it up to the indiscretions of my youth, or that when I took my first drag I was in a horrible period of my life, or that I was surrounding myself with the worst kinds of people.  Those things all have some semblance of truth to them, but they're not the whole story.  Sometimes I think I just wanted to do something bad for the first time in my life.  Do something that people wouldn't' be happy about, do something that made me stand out for once.  I'm not saying that it's good reasoning, because it is not.

    I've been smoking since I was nineteen, I am twenty four now, for those who are as mathematically challenged as I am that totals to five years (I had to count on my fingers twice to figure that out).  Five years that I willingly did something I knew was wrong.  God, am I starting to sound like an anti smoking PSA?  That was not at all my intentions.  I'm starting to believe that quitting is taking away my sense of humor, I hope that's not true.  Last week I bought my last pack of Marlboro Menthol one hundreds, and bought my first pack of NicoDerm CQs.  When I put the first tan colored patch upon my forearm, I felt an immense sense of relief.  And even though the patch stands out awkwardly among my pale skin, I'm okay with that.  I keep telling everyone it's my Ortho Evra birth control patch, which is a huge blow to those people who are trying to inseminate me, I'm sure.  Though, I like the patches because they  make me not have any cravings at all.  Though breaking the habit of driving around listening to dumb music and smoking, is going to be a bitch.

This week I traded one addiction for another.

     I've always heard that the second you stop smoking you are sure to gain thirty seven pounds of your dignity back.  I guess I am doing my part to keep that truth alive.  Within seconds of smoking my last cigarette I quickly found solace in a bag of goldfish,  followed by a six pack of twenty ounce mountain dews, and chased them with an entire bag of cherry flavored pull and peel Twizzlers.  I love Twizzler's, they are God's perfect food.  They are sweet, and chewy, and taste like home; if you happen to live in a dirty movie theater that is.  In fact I think it's possible that in the past seven days I have consumed the world's supply of Twizzlers.  There are no Twizzler's left for the children of the world, unless of course they're looking for the black ones which I'm sure they'll find in droves because no one wants them--they're disgusting.

    I'd like to say that I am attempting to counteract this sudden binge of carbo-loading, but instead I'm just going to let it play out.  I guess I could try to eat sensibly and maybe try to figure out exactly what pilates entails, but instead I think I'll go the opposite direction.  No, instead I am going to eat whatever the hell I feel like and pray that I don't get crazy fat.  As everyone knows crazy fat is the exact weight you must reach to be considered for a job in postal service.  All postal workers I've ever seen are crazy fat individuals, not that I think there's anything wrong with the postal service or anything.  I'm just not sure I'm organized enough to be considered for it.

This week I had the craziest dreams.

    On the box of nicotine patches there is a warning that states that the wearing of said patches overnight might result in vivid dreams.  They were not lying.  The first couple of nights I wore the patch to bed without much concern of the consequences.  I made the wrong decision. I did not sleep for three nights straight due to the ridiculous dreams I was waking up from every fifteen minutes.  I am well aware that there is nothing in this world that is less interesting than having to listen to someone talk about their own dreams.  Trust me I know, I used to know this guy who was constantly walking up to me and asking me to talk about his dreams with him, this guy was the worst.  Though his dreams were not at all as interesting as mine.  Let me walk you through a couple of the scenarios that I remember.

     Scenario One: I had a dream the first night that my friends Bryant and Kelli asked me to accompany them on a trip to Oklahoma, the journey was made my train. On the voyage Kelli who is not narcissistic in the slightest, would not stop talking about her own hair.  Bryant did the only normal thing in the entire dream, and did what he always does and talked about electronics he wanted to purchase.  Once we arrived in the great state of Oklahoma, Bryant quickly informed me that he was ready for me to leave.  I was somehow transported back to Louisiana, and I cried about never getting to see Oklahoma whilst baking the most bizarre apple pie I've ever seen. 

     Scenario Two:  I was on some kind of covert mission with a guy who I guess was supposed to be my brother, when in reality I don't even have a brother.    My fictitious brother and I were both proficient with firearms (in reality I've never even held a gun).  We broke into a stranger's home where an overweight teenage prostitute resided.  We ran out of bullets, and the whore's father told us that we could steal some from the local Walgreen's (Sadly, Walgreen's is part of my reality).  The dream ended when me and my partner left the house and entered into a lobby where someone shot us (If this was reality, I'm pretty sure my last words right now would be "Twizzlers").

    See?  Even people on high quality pharmaceuticals don't have dreams like that.  That is ridiculous.  Remind me to never quit smoking again. 

 This week I bought some goldfish.

     I'm finally going to talk about something that except for the twenty three words in this sentence has nothing to do with smoking.  For the past few months I've been having this fantasy about owning goldfish.  I'm not sure why, because I'm not even a huge fan of fish.  In fact I don't really like animals other than dogs.   I hate cats, reptiles, and rodents, parrots are okay. Though,  I would be perfectly happy to have as many as seventeen dogs, eighteen would be enough to have someone call animal control on me, but seventeen would be perfect.  Though for some reason I've been wanting to own a goldfish really badly.  I don't even have a great track record in fish ownership, as the only marine life I've ever been responsible for has met an untimely death.  I once had a Betta fish named Jalapeno, and he met his fate early on when I completely forgot he existed and forgot to feed him for two weeks.  I also once purchased a pair of fish for my Grandmother that I had named Rizzo and Kenickie (from Grease fame), who died in a matter of weeks.  Though I had nothing to do with their demise, I still feel guilty about it.  I also once killed an entire colony of Sea Monkeys by accidentally dumping them all over my bedroom floor.  So I guess you could say that I might not ever foray into the world of marine biology.  Although, I do think it would be fun to run an aquarium, only so that I could sneak behind children who were viewing the shark tank, and scream loudly in their ears so as to make them pee themselves.  Because if R. Kelly taught us anything it is that urine be funny.   

   
     I guess the point of all this is to say that this fantasy has been fulfilled  I purchased these last weekend, and surprisingly they are alive.  I have no clue as to what sex they are, but I'm just assuming that they are male and female, and are of course in love.  I was originally going to name them Queen Latifah and Tupac Shakur because my coworker told me that she believes I have a blackocity higher than most white people she knows.  I wanted to name them after two great African American's as to benefit our community.  Though, I ultimately decided to go back to my roots and to name them after two Southern deities: Paula Deen and Conway Twitty.  Paula is a boisterous cow of a goldfish, and is constantly mixing foodstuff with her bare hands, bawdy rings on every finger.  Conway is a womanizing alcoholic, who enjoys guitar strumming and harmonizing.

I know, I know

I realize that I'm about a week late with a post, but I wanted to wait to write until things started happening.  Thankfully, things are happening, huge things and I want to be able to do them justice so just give me a bit, okay?

Four Things Week Two

     I'm two days late with this post, but at least I'm posting so I don't want to hear your bitching.  I act as if there are hundreds of you out there clamoring for my every word, instead of all two of you.  That's fine, I'm glad you're here.  I knew when I started this posting experiment that some posts would be better than others, as I am prone to having large bursts of productiveness, followed quickly by giant lapses of nothing.  Which is a shame, because I prefer to be busy.

This Week I Did The Inevitable and Failed My Math Class

     I'd like to start out by letting you know how much I truly hate the study of mathematics.  I hate numbers, addition, multiplication, tangents, and cubes.  There is nothing good that can come out of subtraction or division.  I guess adding is fine, but the trouble comes when you begin to go forth, be fruitful, and multiply. I hate math, because no matter how many professors of the subject claim that there are rules that help you get the answer to any given equation, the rules are always changing.  I don't like anything that isn't constant.  I've never understood math, and I never will.  Now, I'm not going to say that I think the square root of four is rainbows or anything, but it's still pretty bad.  Unfortunately I am taking a math class this summer, only because I heard that it is easier to pass in a shorter amount of time. I'm not sure what asshole said that to me, but if I can ever remember, I am going to shove my eighty dollar math book up their ass.

     To be honest, the class didn't start out badly.  I have been out of math classes for over three years, so the little that I did already know had begun to fade away.  And though, I didn't immediately begin to jump back into my feeble understanding of the subject, I was at least on my way to a place where if I didn't understand the subject, I could at least scrape by and do what I do best and fake my way out of it.  And that's when my math class gave me a bladder infection a couple of weeks ago.  I'd like to say that the teacher after seeing me fall asleep at my desk for the umpteenth time stabbed me in the heart with an infected piece of chalk, which gave me the  painful disorder.  But sadly, it was just his refusal to let me leave class to use the restroom that made  my kidneys fill up with waste, and by the end of the two hours had me doubling over in random shudders of bladder pain.  I know you probably weren't expecting this post to end up as a detailed account of the excretory system, but sorry that's just the way my kidneys roll.  The day following my painful bout with bladder infection, I skipped the class out of retribution.  I'm not sure if I thought this would somehow let the professor know that he had wronged me, or what.  Instead it just made me fall behind.  And then I began to fall further behind, to a place where I couldn't possibly catch up.  I should have known better, but if we've learned anything about me at all we know that I don't.  So, the moral of the story is, always pee before class or you'll end up taking it again next semester.

This Week I Began Watching Supernatural

    One of the reasons that I was reluctant to take a class this summer in the first place is that this is the first summer I've had as a college student in nearly three years.  I didn't really want to waste these three months by going to class, instead preferring to stay home and watch television that I had missed all last season thanks to homework and actual work.  Summer is also the time of the year where I begin to watch new shows that have caught my eye, so that I may begin to watch them when they start back up in the fall.  Although honestly, the list of shows I'm watching these days is spiraling so far out of control that maybe I shouldn't have begun to watch any new shows, or I may just fail all of my classes next semester.  My best friend suggested to me that I should start watching Supernatural, which is a show that I assumed would not be up my alley.  I lean towards entertainment that is funny, and brightly colored, maybe with a little song and dance, and light on the dramatics and mystery.  Though I knew I would end up watching it anyways because I am always looking for something to talk to my friend about.

    The thing is, I've been friends with this person since I was ten which is miraculous because we don't have a single thing in common.  Sure, we both have brown hair and have lived across the street from each other for half of our lives, but that is where the similarities stop.  He is thoughtful and funny, I am crude and obnoxious.  He is a law student, and I am a walking, bumbling, catastrophe most of the time.   To be honest, I'm not sure why he likes me but I'm glad that he does. So needless to say, I am always looking for things to talk to him about.  Though I assumed that if he liked it than I would more than likely hate it.  I'm not so into serious television, I mean I just finished watching an episode of "The Real Housewives of New Jersey".   But, I picked up the show last weekend thinking that even if I hated it I could hang in there and at least be able to discuss it with him.  Holy shit, I had no idea how amazing it was going to be.  You guys, the shit that is happening on this show is just unreal.  You have to watch it, so that I don't have to completely nerd out, and explain it to you.  Seriously.

This Week I Researched

     If you don't know me very well you might know that I am a planner.  I like to have nearly everything mapped out to the most minuscule detail.  It is one of the few things I am truly great at, and that is thinking of every possible thing that could go wrong.   You might say I'm a doomsayer, or a Debbie Downer and you would probably be partially right.  I just like to be prepared, I like to know everything I can possibly know about any product I plan on purchasing, or any deal I plan to get into. So, I research, and I plan, and I think a lot about every single one of my ventures.  I've been doing a lot research lately, on things I plan to buy.  I'm hoping to get an iPhone in the next couple of months, so I've been reading reviews, and researching message packages, and data plans, and discounts I can get based off of being a student.  I've also been looking into purchasing a new car in the next six months or so.  That is something I have never done, as both of the cars I have driven were bought for me.  I've never been able to actually sit and choose what it is that I wanted.  I'm leaning towards something mid size and red, though my father believes I should get something that runs so I have no idea what I'll end up getting.

     I also went to the McNeese bookstore this week and perused the list of books that I'll need to purchase in a month, just so that I'm fully prepared for how damn expensive they are so that I don't experience a chronic hernia after seeing my bill.  Will someone please tell me why it is that because I am taking an online course for Sociology that my book is seventy dollars more than the regular sociology book?  That is absolutely outrageous, and whoever decided this needs to be stopped immediately. 

This Week I Didn't Accomplish Things I Had Hoped I Might

     As you can probably gather from the three other accounts of my weeks adventures, I didn't get a whole lot done.  In fact, most of what I've been doing is watching Supernatural, and reading product reviews when I should be studying math.  So as you can imagine I didn't accomplish much.  There were a couple of things I meant to do in the last seven days that I somehow couldn't find an excuse to actually do.  Here are those things:

I did not eat any watermelon this week.
I did not find an appropriate or topical reason to use the phrase "Work that hose, bitch!" in normal conversation.
I did not watch a single game of the World Cup, even though I told myself I would try to get involved.
I did not read over my bank statements, and try to figure out where all of my money is going.
I did not get this post up inside the self scheduled deadline.


I will try harder to be more amazing next week, hopefully something happens.

Four Things Week One

     This blog makes me feel so guilty.  Not guilty because of the things I have said on it, but because somehow it has become a chore.  A chore to write about what is going on in my life.  I guess I never think of the minuscule happenings of my every day life as extraordinary enough to talk about. So instead I write nothing, and the guilt of writing nothing keeps me awake at night.  Actually that's a bold faced lie, because there's pretty much nothing in this world that can keep me from getting my daily twelve hours of sleep. Though, I do feel guilty of not keeping you abreast (I've never been able to figure out an excuse to use that word until now) of the minute details of my life. Which is not to say that I have nothing to talk about, because clearly I am where it's all happening in the world. 

     I guess I just need some inspiration, something that I will be proud to share with all four of you out there that are hanging on my every word.  I've decided to try a little experiment, to see if I can increase postings.  I have decided that every week I will write about four things I have done in the last seven days.  Sometimes these things will be things I planned, chances I wanted to take, things I wanted to say.  Sometimes they'll be errands, or the mundane things that bog me down.  Sometimes they'll be the completely bizarre things that seem to happen to only me.  So here goes what I am tentatively titling Four Things.  Original isn't it?


This Week I Wore Shorts In A Public Place.

    This has always been a sore subject for me.  If you know me in real life you may have noticed at some point that no matter the state of the weather outside during any given month whether it be in January or the middle of July that I am more than likely wearing jeans.  Even worse, I wear jeans with flip flops on a daily basis.  I know that's probably some deep fashion faux pas, but I wouldn't even know because even though my sister subscribed me to GQ for my birthday a month ago, I have yet to receive my first issue.  I guess   I've just always been funny about having the bottom two thirds of my body on public display for the world to gawk at.  It's not that I think that particular region of my body is in some state of complete disrepair or anything.  It's not like I'm walking around with cankles or something equally horrifying and disfiguring.  My thighs have never been bigger than my head, although to be fair I do have a rather large head.  I even have pretty decent calves which I like to attribute to the years I spent when I was in middle school jumping on my trampoline and listening to Reba McEntire.  Though, to be fair my legs are pretty pale, as is the rest of my frame.  I'd like to say that my body is tanned and chiseled, but sadly it's floppy and the exact same color of Elton John's face.  Though, I walk out of the door on a daily basis even though I have approximately seventeen chins, so I'm not sure why this is a sticking point for me. 

     So I decided to do the unthinkable and wear shorts to my Summer Session math class this last Thursday.  To be honest I only own one pair of shorts and those were purchased by my parents for my birthday, and though I deeply considered taking them back and exchanging them for the cash, I had inadvertently already taken the tags off of them, so sadly I was stuck with them.  I guess I should wrap this up by saying that oddly enough no one was harmed by seeing the blinding white flesh of my ankles and legs last Thursday.  Although I'm pretty sure I did hear a couple of gasps, and at least one audible shudder.  I do believe the only reason no one in that class turned to stone after looking at me, is because there was a test that day and no one took the chance of looking up to see my legs lest the teacher think they were cheating.  So score one for me I guess.  I tackled my fear, and no one died.  That's not to say, that I'll ever do it again.  I'm all for doing crazy things once, but am not ever willing to repeat them.


This Week I Went To The Dentist

    I know this is not exactly ground breaking news, as I'm sure most of you have excellent oral hygiene and go to regularly scheduled dental appointments.  That's not to say that my mouth is in a complete state of disarray.  I floss.  I've just never been big on the dentist.  I guess I've just always been ashamed of my teeth.  For some reason my parents decided in my adolescent years that there was no need for me to have braces, and the subject was never brought up.  My teeth aren't a hot crooked mess or anything, but they're not as perfect.  And through the use of many a box of Crest WhiteStrips I have tried to keep them in some semblance of the color pale. 

     I guess my fear of dentist stemmed from a couple years ago when my normal dentist got busted for some misdemeanor and had to close up shop.  Her last name was a slang term for the word butt, which I guess should have been a sign to my parents to contact the American Dental Association and find another practitioner.  So, I've just gone the past couple of years without a dentist, which I understand is horrible.  Trust me, I get it.  Though, don't worry three times a day when I'm going through my normal dental routine I recite a lecture in my head, and warn myself about the dangers of plaque and gingivitis just like she would have.  On Thursday in my post shorts wearing high, I went and got lunch with my sister and immediately afterward I felt like there was something stuck in between my molars.  So, I flossed, and I brushed, and I flossed again to no avail.  It became clear to me later that night when my bottom gums were being punctured by an unseen force, that I had chipped a tooth.  I made an appointment with an unknown dentist the following morning, and they scheduled me in for an Emergency visit.   After waiting for an hour, and falling asleep in the lobby, they finally called me in to an office with the two most attractive dental hygienists that are probably walking this planet.  I'm not sure if all dental hygienists are this attractive, and if that's a job requirement, but it must be.  I guess that's why you always hear about dentists banging their dental hygienists, because they simply cannot resist.  I'm guessing that they don't even waste money on expensive nitrous oxide to sedate their male patients, they just parade the dental hygienists around the reclining chair until they're in a semi catatonic state, drooling with mouths wide open.  

     They prepped me for an X Ray, and began to shove a large apparatus in my mouth, to which I responded to by gagging forcefully.  The dental hygienist replied by asking if I had a gag reflex.  Which up until this point was something I thought all people were installed with, but I guess not.  Great, now I have something else to feel self conscious about.  I've been going around all these years gagging unexpectedly, only to find that this is something that would qualify me for a circus side show.  After all was said and done the dentist came in and announced "there is something wrong with your tooth, something needs to be done about your tooth" well, thanks for the sagely wisdom, asshole.  He then informed me that I would need have a root canal, and then to get a crown installed, and would I be interested in something in a white porcelain, or a gold tooth?  I think I'll leave you hanging on my response to that question.


This Week I Planned A Trip To Visit Two Of My Favorite People

     I have been saying for more than a year that I would visit Ohio where my two favorite people have relocated.  Yes, I've looked up airplane tickets, and considered scheduling, but I have never actually gotten anything done.  Either my school schedule conflicted, or the money just wasn't there.  Thankfully I am now getting federal money to go to school because I am now what the government considers to be of non traditional school age.   Which is probably true, I am twenty four after all.  I might as well be a sixty year old grandmother sitting in some of my classes.  I certainly feel like a dinosaur in most of my classes.  Yes, it's true.  I know neither of Gossip or its Girl.  I am a dinosaur, and someone should take me out back and shoot me. 

     Anyways, thanks to this federal grant I now have a lot more spending money in way of student loans to play around with.  Normally, I would spend the money on frivolous things such as patterned boxer shorts, and cases of those delicious soft cookies they sell at Walmart. You know the ones with the really thick sweet icing and the sprinkles?  Those cookies are delicious and worth spending thousands of dollars on.  Though, I have budgeted my extra money and have finally found enough to go on a voyage to Cleveland.  That's right, it will be a voyage, not just a mere trip.  I have talked to the friend I am visiting and have worked out a time frame which suits both of our school schedules.  I am happy to  be doing something, to be going somewhere.  I like having something to look forward to, something to plan.

This Week I Saw Someone I Used To Know.

     I used to have this friend.  This friend who I had known since the sixth grade.  This friend that I had been loyal too, this friend that I had confided in.  This friend who I counted on.  A couple of years ago, this friend gave me up in favor of greater promises.  I used to be filled with resentment over this friend.  I was filled with bitter, angry feelings on how he had tossed me aside, after I had picked him up so many times.  Eventually I got over it as I tend to get over most things that ruined my life at one point or another.  I hadn't spoken to him in nearly two years, which was fine with me.  I saw him last Wednesday, as he came into the establishment that I work at.    Immediately I got that feeling in my stomach that I always get whenever I'm panicky and fearful of seeing someone.  I used to get this same feeling whenever I would see my ex girlfriend.  That feeling of pure terror,  that feeling of burning raw panic.

     He said hello, I said hello back.  He asked how I had been and I mumbled something about being fine.  I didn't ask how he was doing, because I didn't particularly care.  He then turned to walk away, and before he did he said to me "It was good having you as a friend".  With those words, it was all over.  The panic subsided, the fear went away.  The friendship is still over, and will always be over.  It just no longer feels like a burned bridge, but instead a bridge that was taken down by a city after a newer and better bridge was built in its place.  I have moved on to better people, and I hope he has too.  So goodbye Luke.  I hope things with you are well, even though I couldn't say it to you face to face.


So there's the first week of Four Things.  Painless wasn't it?  Or at the very least less painful than my trip to the dentist.