Sunday, November 30, 2014

Nov. 29 was the worst day of my life

Moving is exciting and scary and there are a lot of emotions that come along with it. Nov. 29 was the longest day of my life and almost the worst day of my life (right behind the day Hostess went out of business slash took a break slash broke my heart).



I’m not going to bore you with intro banter. Read below to catch a glimpse into my nightmare.

Don’t always believe apartment complexes
If an apartment complex tells you to move in at 10 a.m. Nov. 29, don’t jump to any conclusions. They might have just put that time and date on a piece of paper for the looks of it all. Upon arriving at the apartment complex at 10 a.m. Nov. 29, the leasing office was closed. After five voicemails, 25 phone calls, six text messages, and a lot of prayer between Kassidy Ketron and I, we still got nowhere. But sometimes you just need to call in the big guns (Brittney Skinner) to enlist some help.



God bless Brittney Skinner
God bless her. While she was helping me move in (we convinced a maintenance men to give us keys), we accidentally saw the property manager walking back to her apartment. Brittney verbally abused her like she was a journalist questioning O.J. Simpson. She was mean. The property manager was scared. I was scared. Brittney mentally and emotionally knocked her down until she couldn’t get back up and handed over what we needed and took some money off our first month’s rent.

my sis to property manager.

Boys will do just about anything for beer and God bless them
I want to thank Michael, Tyler, Derek, and Joseph for helping us move. They might not be characters from the Bible, but God still blessed them. They lifted and moved and didn’t even complain and I love them for that. They were rewarded with beer because boys like beer and this is a fact.



God bless Brittney Skinner (again)
She’s either really mean or really nice and I got to see both sides of her on moving day. While the boys and I were moving all of Kassidy’s stuff, Brittney was setting up my room. It might have been because she knows I can’t decorate. It might have been because she’s a control freak. It might have been because she didn’t want to do any heavy lifting. Or I guess it just could have been that she’s really effing nice. Whatever it was, I’m all unpacked and Kassidy is still unpacking while I write this blog.

Prayers for Paige
I just need everyone’s prayers right now. Upon plugging in my 20-year-old TV and straightening its antennas, I found out that I get absolutely no channels. No channel 4. No channel 5. That means no Wendy Williams. No Jimmy Fallon. No Seth Meyers. That means I will be alone with my thoughts and this blog until I can figure something out. It’s just tough. I just need privacy. I need your thoughts. #PrayersForPaige



The first grocery trip
There’s nothing like a new Target. It smells different. The paper towels aren’t by the groceries. There isn’t a dorm section so I can buy a cheap mirror. It’s also a completely different demographic than my Target in Garland. It’s a bunch of white people in jogging shoes and spandex pants who don’t buy Hostess donuts and like to make you feel bad about it. There’s also a cop standing by the exit to make sure no one steals anything and I’m like, Oh????? All these rich Uptown people need to steal some toilet paper????? K. It’s very, very, very tragic and I felt out of place.

people in uptown's target while grocery shopping.

The first shower
It’s scary. You don’t know what to expect. Figuring out all of the knobs and which way goes which way is terrifying. I’m naked and afraid. And you never know which one is making it hot because it takes forever to heat up. So I stood there for 3 minutes waiting for the water to get hot but it never did because it was on cold. And then the big boom. When I made it go from bath to shower. This is scarier than opening a can of cinnamon rolls. I shouted. I might have cussed, I don’t remember.
The water was aggressive. And hard. And forceful. It wasn’t delicate like I am. It said BAM, I’M HERE TO CLEAN and I was scared. Frightened even.
Then when it came time to turn off the shower, it was like the beginning all over again. I didn’t know which way to turn the knobs. I actually thought for sure I had broken a knob and was never going to get it fixed. Well this is it, I thought. I’m never going to get the water to shut off and it’s going to overflow and water will leak into our downstairs neighbor’s apartment and is this why we need renters insurance and why does this day keep getting worse and do I have enough towels to clean this up and if I go to Target now, I can buy a bunch of paper towels to soak it all up and make it back in time before it’s completely overflown. I managed to turn it off.



The first night
I was bored. We didn’t have TV or Internet. I wrote a little and then I was bored again. I crawled into Kassidy’s bed with her dog. We laughed about the day and how tragic it all was. We told each other about the voicemails we left the apartment complex. We cringed but justified it with the fact that we were angry. Kassidy and Winston eventually fell asleep and one of them started snoring. I’ll let you do the concluding about which one it was. I snuck out of the room and headed to my bed. The wall on my bedroom is by the outside and you can pretty much here anything and everything. Including a couple fighting at 3 a.m.
“That’s not the point. The point is that you did.” – a great first line to a murder mystery novel I’ll eventually write



I had to go to Starbucks to post this blog because we don’t have WiFi yet. Tragic, I tell you. Tragic.

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Murder is fun

In two days I move out of my parents' house. This means a lot of things, but it mainly means no more Investigation Discovery channel because I will be a broke hustler and will not be able to afford it.

#momentofsilenceplease

ID is what I like to call the Murder Channel.



There are about 15079823 shows on this channel and they're all the same but all have different titles.

Show titles examples:
Homicide Hunter
My Dirty Little Secret
Nightmare Next Door
Deadly Women - i.e. Jodi Arias
A Crime to Remember
I (Almost) Got Away With It - but they didn't.
Deadly Devotion
Who The (Bleep) Did I Marry? - not everyone ends up dead but it's still good television
Deadly Affairs - "Two's company, but three's a crowd when one's a killer." -Susan Lucci, the host
Dates From Hell - do not, I repeat DO NOT watch a marathon of this show before going on a first date with a guy
Wicked Attraction - most of these episodes have to do with preachers/pastors/ministers/idk the difference
Stalked: Someone's Watching
I'd Kill For You
Happily Never After
Fatal Vows - somehow not the same show as Happily Never After
Evil Twins - seriously the creepiest. Read the Wikipedia page for June and Jennifer Gibbons
Evil Kin

Anytime someone comes over, they HATE that this is always on my TV. They claim they're scared and I'm like, Sorry, but Pretty Little Liars also scares you, so grow up.



Most of the time, I fall asleep to this channel and have horrible, horrible dreams. Like I'm being murdered or stalked or I like show up to school in my underwear or just something generally horrible.

The beauty of this channel is it's on all the time. NO INFOMERCIALS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. I can wake up at 3 a.m. and instead of seeing Adam Levine complain about acne he doesn't have, I can watch someone get brutally murdered.

ya i'm concerned about a pimple on his face.

Here are some of my favorite episodes:

Dates From Hell -"Dark Knight"
I don't want to give anything away, but here I go. Basically you follow this couple through their first date and the entire time you're thinking, Ohmygosh, he's going to murder her. BUT HE DOESN'T. Instead, they go and see the new Dark Knight movie IN AURORA, COLORADO AND HE SAVES HER. HE TAKES A BULLET FOR HER. IT'S THE SWEETEST THING ALIVE. Until you go and Google the couple and find out he was cheating on his wife with this young girl he died for and then you're like oh.

Deadly Women -"Til Death Do Us Part"
Basically this woman kills her preacher husband in his sleep because he was abusing their children. During the trial, she takes the stand and talks about how he made her dress up like a stripper and everything and then the jury feels sorry for her and she only gets 210 DAYS IN PRISON BUT ONLY SERVED A WEEK. ONLY A WEEK, PEOPLE. 

Also, I can't think of the series for this one, but one is where the husband is a complete liar and didn't really go to Harvard and get his law degree and then he poisons his wife with antifreeze and it's all so tragic.

That's all. 

Click on the ads, if you love me.

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

WHO NEEDS $12 A MONTH WHEN YOU'RE ROLLING IN MONEY LIKE ME

I have so much money I don't even know what to do with all of it at this point.

JOKES ON JOKES because I have about nine jobs and none of them pay enough to support a dog, much less a real-life human being.



Do you see this teapot?

do you see this tragicness?

It holds cash so I can pay my taxes at the end of the year because none of my paychecks take taxes out.

This is nice until I'm like, DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY I WILL HAVE TO PAY THE GOVERNMENT GODS ONCE APRIL ROLLS AROUND? I cry a little anytime I even start to think about it.



But not only does America/society/random strangers/my conservative uncle want to punish me for being a journalist, apparently Bank of America wants to, too.

After graduating college, I was no longer a student in the eyes of BofA, (but still a student of life) meaning I now need to have $250 directly deposited into my account each month or else I will get a service charge.

"I'm assuming you're older than 23?" -BofA man



Yes, I am. Thanks for bringing up that challenging birthday I just recently experienced. If the world didn't already punish me for graduating college, turning 24, and moving out, now a random stranger needs to add to the conversation.



Not one of my jobs pays me in direct deposit. I get a check in the mail like every other day because this is 1964 and mailing checks is still apparently a thing.

To punish me, BofA has a service charge of $12 a month.

$12 A MONTH.

What's $12 a month, you must be asking youself. That's 24 tacos from Jack in the Box. That's shampoo and conditioner. That's a cute, simple top from Target. That's a refill of happy pills.



IT'S A LOT OF THINGS, OK.

Who knows what BofA does with this money. Uses it to snort cocaine? Uses it as toilet paper? Uses it to maintain an account that doesn't have direct deposit because that's a bad thing and they need to punish people?????? The options are endless.

In an attempt to get rid of this service charge, my mother and I headed to BofA to work our white girl charm and see if we could abolish it.



After being on the verge of tears, the man (who was very attractive but had a blinding ring on his left hand) told me there was no hope.

"It's fine. I'll just strip for some extra income." -me

"We've all been there." -my mom

"Haha, that's funny." -BofA man.

me as a stripper putting cats to sleep.

IS IT FUNNY? DO YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER STRIPPING TO JUSTIFY A $12 SERVICE CHARGE? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT FOR THE FUTURE OF AMERICA?

This is all so tragic. So very, very tragic.


Sunday, November 23, 2014

25 Easy Steps for Buying Aaron Carter Concert Tickets

Buying concert tickets for a washed-up child star is challenging and I don't want you to think otherwise.

Here's a step-by-step guide on how to do it.

Step one: Fall in love with Aaron Carter when you're 11 years old
Watch and then re-watch the Lizzie McGuire Christmas episode featuring AC and wonder why you aren't Hilary Duff. Also, begin planning for family Christmases with Aaron and his brother, Nick Carter, and Nick's girlfriend Paris Hilton.



Step two: Forget about him
Move on to Justin Timberlake, Jesse McCartney, Harry Styles, Jimmy Fallon, the boy who sat in front of you in class...

Step three: Watch House of Carters and wonder where it all went wrong


quality programming.

Step four: Obtain a degree from a university and still have the brain cells of an 11-year-old who wants to go to an Aaron Carter concert
Kent Hance would be proud. #DreamNoLittleDreams


photo by brad tollefson

Step five: Convince your friends to attend the concert with you
They will moan and groan, but you will prevail because you are a magician who can convince your friends to do anything in the name of a good time and a possibly-entertaining blog post.

Step six: Remind your friends every day that we need to buy the tickets
They will become annoyed with you, but you know only the squeaky wheel gets fixed.



Step seven: Decide on a time and date when you're going to buy the tickets
Mark it in your calendar because you mean business.



Step eight: Bribe your friend that you will buy her ticket for her birthday


diva.

Step nine: Log into the House of Blues website

Step 10: Select two tickets and enter your information in the less than 5-minute limit
Your heart will be racing because of the countdown in the bottom righthand corner telling you your time is almost up.



Step 11: Sweat a lot



Step 12: Have the site tell you something is wrong
The website won't tell you which piece of information is wrong. It will just tell you something is wrong.

Step 13: Try again
Then fail.

Step 14: Try again




Step 15: Tweet Live Nation


Step 16: Try one more time
Begin to question life, love, liberty, the pursuit of Aaron Carter tickets.

Step 17: Log onto StubHub to buy tickets through them
Realize StubHub is selling Aaron Carter tickets for twice as much because there's nothing like idiotic white girls who would buy surged AC tickets.

Step 18: Text your friends




Step 19: Cuss a lot
A lot.



Step 20: Consider stealing your parents's credit card
They'll never notice a random charge of $40 on their bill, you think to yourself, wiping away the tears.

Step 21: Call House of Blues
"Yes, hello. I need two tickets to the Aaron Carter concert. Yes, I realize my life is sad."

Step 22: Talk to an automated voice for 15 minutes
The robot woman is having a hard time understanding your Texan accent, but you stick through it.



Step 23: Confirm your ticket purchase
Praise God because you confirmed your ticket purchase. There is literally no stopping you now.



Step 24: Tweet Aaron Carter because you're excited you're seeing him in concert on his birthday
You are on top of the world. You want everyone to know what you just went through. You want Aaron to personally know that you're spending his birthday with him. You want him to know that 13 years later, you still remember his birthday because you're that big of a fangirl.




Step 25: Have Aaron Carter personally tweet you and your friend not to come to his concert.



k.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

The Scariest Story Of All-Time

Nowhere is safe.

You can't trust anyone.

Watch your back.

This is a scary story I will soon tell around campfires and at slumber parties and to my grandchildren one day to warn them of the dangers of the human race. I need everyone to grab their Snuggie and some popcorn because you're about to read a very, very, very, very scary story.



I was at Pete's Piano Bar after a horribly unfunny comedy show at the Addison Improv, hanging out/singing/dancing with some people.

Boys, girls, etc. Everyone was there.

Kassidy and I excused ourselves like the ladies we are and went to the bathroom to, you know, go potty and chat where we could actually hear each other.

I don't remember what we talked about. I seriously don't. I remember saying about one sentence and that was it. I also remember not being able to hear Kassidy in the stall next to me, so who knows what she said.

After leaving the piano bar that night, I receive a text.




God help us all.

But first, WHO THE EFF IS THIS GIRL?

She's a stranger, who doesn't know me or the person she told, so literally, mind your own business.



Secondly, GO POTTY AND DON'T LISTEN TO STRANGE GIRLS TALK ABOUT SOMEONE IN THE BATHROOM. If you do, GO HOME AND BLOG ABOUT IT. TWEET IT. WRITE IT IN YOUR HORSE DIARY. TELL YOUR MAID. DON'T TELL THE SUBJECT OF THE CONVERSATION EVERY LAST DETAIL, YOU HORRIBLE MONSTER FREAK.

I don't know who the girl is, which is even more frustrating. I don't remember who was sitting behind us because I was too busy dancing on stage like a moron.



It could have been the 79-year-old bathroom attendant.

the bathroom attendant from last night.


She seemed nice, but now I'm second guessing everything.

Was it because I didn't tip her? Did I splash water on the counter after washing my hands? Was she mad I didn't take the mint she offered me? Is she jealous I'm younger than her and not working as a bathroom attendant? Did she have a rough childhood and is now trying to take it out on unsuspecting pretty white females?

The subject of the conversation won't tell me what she told them either.

K.

I guess I'm just confused because I thought the ladies' room was supposed to be a safe haven (Aren't all havens safe?). It's one thing if I mentioned how I was going to murder someone and then the stranger told the person, but this??????? Once again, I don't remember what I said, but what???????

It's sad. Don't be me. Just converse the old-fashioned way. Text it.


Thursday, November 20, 2014

My childhood room is tragic

I'm moving out of my parents' house in about a week.

My father is upset about this because he'll have no one to watch TMZ with. (My mother doesn't watch TMZ because she gets her entertainment news from MSNBC. K.)

My mom, however, has asked me every day since I moved in when I'm moving out, so there's that.

K.

I've lived in this room nearly my entire life and since graduating college, I've been here a year.

I'll go ahead and get this out of the way: I'm a hoarder.

me chillin in my room.

And I'm lazy.

Painfully, painfully, painfully lazy.

me all day every day.

If you put something somewhere, that's where it's going to stay. I have no eye for decoration, no strength for rearranging, and like I said, I'm lazy.

Example: My mom saw this Love sign all by its lonesome and thought it would be funny/creative/nice to put it on top of a lamp I stole from my grandmother.



That was one year ago.

And there it sits today, Nov. 20, 2014.

I'm also a severely sad magazine and newspaper hoarder. If I have even the smallest byline in a newspaper, you better believe I have a copy of it. And if I have a front page story? I have five copies of that newspaper. I have this insane fear that someday a potential editor is going to want actual newspaper clippings of my work, so I keep everything. Lol k.

my bylines. tell me i'm famous.

And I keep magazines because my grandmother did and I think it's the coolest thing in the world. I don't know why, but I can't let go of a Justice Magazine with Taylor Swift on the cover when she was kind of a nobody. It's one thing to read the article online, but it's a completely different thing to see it in actual real-life print in my hands. And my grandkids are going to want to see this one day, right???? Will I have grandkids???? Is anyone going to marry me????

just a baba.

help.

I don't update pictures in picture frames, so they're all still high school friends who I don't speak to anymore. I don't get rid of purses, so my very first Dooney and Burke is still proudly hanging in my closet (colored stars on a black background, what up 2006). And even though I haven't turned on my lava lamp since 2004, there it is, sitting in the corner of my dresser, in all its purple and lava-y glory.

It's tragic. This is all so tragic.

Behind my 20-year-old, 13-inch TV (I refuse all suggestions of updating my TV because it's the only man who's stuck by me. Yes, I just called my TV a man. Bye), I have about a dozen bobbleheads because I'm a boy.

what up, cj wilson, rollie fingers, and other guys on roids.

Somewhere is Britney Spears's very first EP. The one with ...Baby One More Time and Autumn Goodbye. AUTUMN GOODBYE. If you have never heard that song, stop what you're doing and enjoy. It's a Brit classic.

on top of an old laptop, a journal, a VHS tape, and next to a letterman jacket patch

Hanging on my walls... oh, my god. That's another story. First I have a letter Hannah Roden wrote me before I graduated high school. I also hung Stacey Donelan's letter, but it fell one night and I haven't seen it since.

do you see the tape that once hung stacey's letter? sorry.

Above my bulletin board, I have a certificate proclaiming me as the Best Kicker of my ninth grade drill team. It's one of my prouder moments. I can't even touch my toes now, but good god, I was great in ninth grade.


I also used to have this creepy little doll, stainedglass thing hanging in my window until one day it wasn't there anymore. It was in my bathroom instead. I don't know, it's kind of creepy, especially considering I don't remember taking it down. But like wtf is this.

i don't even know.
I also have a nightstand thing that's drawers are filled with journals because I've kept a journal since I was 6 years old. I also have this fear that I'm going to die famous and y'all are going to make a Lifetime movie about my life and it's going to be a hot mess like the Brittany Murphy one. There's no room for that. I have four drawers filled with journals and diaries and I think that's the same thing, but a diary makes me sound like a 14-year-old girl who likes horses and her mom, so don't get my Lifetime movie wrong.

I either have to pack all this stuff or throw it away. Prayers appreciated.