Too Damn Early

Hello all,

I have seriously only been awake for 9 min. I got up and came outside and stood in the sun room where we put the lights on the tree yesterday.

Mom: "Graham says that we should put the ornaments on the tree today, he, he!"

Me: "......what?"

"He, he, he Graham said that we should put the ornaments on the tree today."

"No he didn't."

"Yes he did, after he ate his food, he ran through the living room and said that we should put the ornaments on the tree."

"Well, Spike(my parents dog) said that it's too damn early to put a Christmas tree up and if you want to put the ornaments on the tree you should freakin' do it yourself."

I hate when people talk through animals. Fuckhead and I did it for like a year and a half as a way to diffuse our aggression with eachother. I'm going to go ahead and say, if you get a dog and you start talking through it in a messed up voice to be cute; get rid of that dog immediately, or the boyfriend.

I love the movie White Christmas, but as I type and breathe, Mom has turned on the movie in an effort to draw me away from the computer. I know your tricks, woman. I will play your game and adorn your tree, but in return you shall fill my gas tank and I will secretly drink you craptacular wine selection. Merry effing Christmas.

Black Friday Indeed

*Editor's note: Sorry Kristy, I have already told you most of what is in this post, so you don't have to read this; but that will cut my readership in half. No pressure.

Hello all,

Picture it: Me face down in my bed, 9:30, or as I call it, dusk, and Mom walks in to get linens off of a rack in my room.

Mom: "Noah wake up. Dad needs help setting up the Christmas tree and someone's dog pooped downstairs."

Noah: "Was it your dog?"

"No."

"Was it Dad's dog?"

"No."

"Was it my dog?"

"Yes. Well anyways, someone needs to go and take care of it, I mean Dad already picked it up but SOMEBODY needs to get their dog under control."

"Do you need to get your dog under control?"

"No."

"Does Dad need to get his dog under control?"

"No."

"Are you talking about me?"

"Yes, and anyways it's 9:30!"

Omigod, everyday I claw at wallpapered walls whimpering, "No way out, no way out." I got out of bed and went into the living room and Dad said, "There's no use in taking him out. I took him outside and he took a dump and then I brought him inside and he took a dump again. He doesn't have anything left to dump."

I had been awake for 2 min. and Mom was providing evidence of how I am not related to her and I had heard "dump" 3 times. I could already tell it was not going to be a good day. I was supposed to go to the bar where I'm going to start working today for training. It's the Claddagh which sounds like an Irish STD to me. They were out of the legal papers needed to admit new employees, fired the manager who would be in charge of training me, and the other manager was on vacation. So, I hopped in my magical gasless car and wooshed home.

I'm not going to explain the agony that was my Thanksgiving at home, but I'll give you some bullet points

- The stuffing resembled a peppery broth jello.

-I was stuck hearing our entire family history (the uninteresting side) told bu my aunt who had various mayonnaise based salads all over her mouth.

-I had to run into town to get more yams and was in the wine isle of the grocery store looking longingly at every bottle for 10 min before returning home with only yams. Tear. Sober holidays are no one's friend.

- I played solitaire for 3 hours.

-As my super recluse, awkward uncle came in the door he looked at me and said,

Him: "Hi, how are you?"

Me: "Good, how are you?"

"Good..... how are you?"

"?..... Good, how are you?"

"Good, no really, I haven't seen you for 2 years, Noah, so how are you?

"Um.....good, how are you?"

He threw some rolls into my arms, I dropped them in the kitchen and went to the bathroom and cried for 8 min. Why? Clearly I'm taking LSD and am not awake for the fun part of the drug. I had to get my face back together to go back out for the meal, so I tracked my face to follow the oscillating fan in my dad's bathroom. That was a sight. Me sniffling as I followed a small fan in a semi-circle 9 in. from my dad's bathroom mirror. At this rate, Christmas is going to be awesome.

By this time, I was supposed to have received an email from Fuckhead about getting the remainder of my things and possibly a small fraction of anything that we ever owned together. I have received nothing. I want him to be dead so much. I don't want to kill him, I just want him to be dead. Does that make me a bad person? I don't think so either. Like, if someone came to my door and asked me if they should kill Fuckhead for me, the first thing out my mouth wouldn't be yes or no, it would be "How?". I need to make sure that it was humiliating, but not in a way that would emote sympathy from anyone, and thorough. The details would be like a cozy blanket to me.

Gosh, as I reread that I sound a little psycho.....huh. But yes, dead.

I Need Vodka NOW!!!!

Hello all,

Happy Thanksgiving Eve!, which my dad told me is now a holiday/reason to go to church. Seriously, my parents went to church tonight with the only reason being Thanksgiving Eve. WTF. Didn't the pilgrims come here because they wanted to get away from strict religion and rape Indians......Native Americans.......whatever.

I have been helping Mom make the dinner for tomorrow, and I need a drink so badly. Is that the sign of being alcoholic? If it is, I'm an alcoholic and and I have no desire to go to rehab. She is constantly starring at me and asking me patronizing questions. I am trying so hard not to answer with, "No duh bitch, how 'bout you follow me into the bathroom and watch me wipe my own ass? I am not a fucking idiot and can read a recipe just fine without you translating it into "retarded". " This could be misconstrued as hateful and I feel like I'll need to save that emotion for Christmas.

But really, I need a drink. I also have some really devastating news. I know this may come as a shock to many of you who know me and I am having a very hard time dealing with the significant life change that lies ahead of me. I don't really know how to say this.........I think I might be becoming lactose intolerant!!! AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! Gay, no problem, devastated and single, no problem, living at home for an undetermined period of time,......not as big of a problem, lactose intolerant-PROBLEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don't know what I'm going to do. Cheese is such a big part of my life. Seriously, if I didn't wake up tomorrow, I'd be OK with that. I need a drink or 7.

*****************

OK, so right now as I am typing, my parents dog woke up my dad and he is now standing 4 ft. away from me in his underwear, letting the dog outside. This is going to show up in a session with my psychologist in the not too distant future. I was supposed to be living in NYC with a boyfriend, who didn't cheat on me with some 19 year old, dancing on Broadway, and living the life of some young, awesome person. Instead, I am living in parents house, pining to use my degree to get a job in an Irish pub (where people will think I work there just because of my red hair), crying on a daily basis as I watch Grey's Anatomy on DVD, lactose intolerant and sitting 4 ft. away from my dad in a pair of white briefs.

"Hey, Noah! Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, what are you thankful for?"

Me: " ..............................................."

If this is the point in the story of my life where I build lots of character and become a more independent and better for the experience.......I'm out! I'm not interested! I thought I was chock full of character before this! End of the rope, fat lady has sung, t'ain't no mo!! I'M OUT!!!!!

Blood in the Water

Hello all,

Greetings from the couch. Dad is home this week from work and the good times just keep on coming. He is working his way through some straight to TV movies that my brother and sister-in-law gave him. I don’t know if these movies were supposed to be a joke or what, but for any relatives of mine who read this blog:

DO NOT GIVE THEM ANY MOVIES THAT I HAVE NOT APPROVED! WE HAVE ONE TV AND I HAVE TO WATCH EVERYTHING THEY WATCH!

There is a reason these movies went straight to TV. And now I have a fun-filled week full of awkward movies. Thanks.

Last week I was invited to a holiday party and it’s been all that I have been thinking about. The name of the party is “Another Gay Christmas,” there will be gays galore and is being thrown by an old high school friend. I have been trying to find a friend/wingman to come with me so I’d have someone to talk to in case the party’s a bust or I magically turn into a wallflower. All of my friends have spouses, serious jobs, or no interest in coming with me, so I decided yesterday to have the chutzpah to go by myself. Well, today I was looking over the invite list on Facebook and who has replied yes to coming to the party……….

The guy from the bar who was on my brother’s soccer team!! Seriously!! WTF! Quit playing games with my heart!

Now I know he’s not gay and that’s not the problem, the problem is only 14 people have responded yes to going (I have not yet) and I don’t want to be stuck there like some weird townie parana, hunting for the questioning locals. I’m going to look like a crazy stalker! Even more so, the party is all the way in Indy and I can’t get too drunk (alcohol = liquid confidence = good times) because I’ll have to drive myself home. Years ago, this would not be an issue because I would either drive drunk or would bank on going home with someone. But now, I have a new car and a wardrobe of oddly tighter clothes that prove both of those options impossible.

Holiday Spirits

Hello all,

I am writing you today from my parent’s sun room while they talk to my oldest brother and his wife about how prescription drugs are a conspiracy.

Mom: “I ‘m going to start to cut down on what drugs I take. I don’t think I need all of these. I think the doctor just prescribes what he wants to sell the most of.”

Dad: “Yeah, that doctor’s a quack. He’s running a cattle market out of his office.”

Mom: “I think so too. I’m going to start taking just my blood pressure pill. All those other ones are just not doing anything.”

I’m sure. I’m really sure he’s giving you sugar pills and placebos. If my parents are any indicator of what I will be like when I get old……kill me now. I want my life to be like Seinfeld. Not a show about nothing, but end while I’m on top. (Insert gay joke here)

Yesterday was our big family Thanksgiving, and it was followed up with a familial field trip to the local townie bar. What to say, what to say….there are just some things about my family I never wanted to know. I mean, down the road I know it will be beneficial to know that it’s more effective to snort some pills rather than swallow them, but I really don’t want to learn that from someone I used to play hide and seek with at Grandma’s house. Just so I don’t get any family members in trouble, I’ll just skip the immediate company conversation and just talk about the bar.

The bar, Donnie’s, I was expecting to be some dark corner of hell, and it could have been the day of drinking that preceded it, but it really wasn’t all that bad. My whole evening there felt like the first 20 min. of Moulin Rouge, colorful and hallucinogenic. Who knew that some magical liquid called “Windsor” would be my absinthe? It was band night which drew in an abnormally youthful crowd resulting in the most awkward and depressing high school reunion that I could have imagined. Luckily enough I was “budunk”, my cousin’s word for that place between buzzed and drunk, and every person I ever passed in the hall 7 years ago was now a long lost friend. I wasn’t too popular in high school so I was really surprised how many people knew my name, my usual response was, “Heeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy………………………yyyaaa,” having no clue what their name actually was.

There was this guy there from my brother’s high school soccer team that I used to have such a big crush on. My cousin said that he had heard that he was “homo”, so I went over to talk to him. He was a little bigger than what I remember him being and had a 4 inch beard, but he was still cute and had the whole Gerard Butler thing going for him. 4 years of college psychology had made him very sincere and interesting and we had a very pleasant conversation. He was playing in one of the bands and so I returned to my family table and told them what we had talked about and further expressed my interest in him. My cousin asked me if I wanted him to go over and ask him if he was gay/available. I never thought that this particular cousin would be my wingman, but in my world hell freezes over every day. So, he went to go ask him and returned within the minute. Apparently he was not gay and the whole proposition did not go well and the rest of the evening was spent dodging awkward glances. There were a few other gay people there, but they were a couple and had those big metal rings in their earlobes and pierced lips. You’d think that I’d be desperate enough to pursue that, but ear hoops, pierced lips; seriously, I’m not in college anymore.

Most of the day today was spent recouping and explaining to my nephews why I wasn’t going to church with them:

God is fake?

Gay people go to hell?

The Sunday morning show on CBS is much more entertaining?

I’m a little hung over?

All of these were options but I just told them that I had to watch the dogs and make sure they didn’t try to put on any of their clothes and have a party.

The Glamorous Life of an Orphan

Hello all,

I am writing you today from my childhood bedroom that has become my adult bedroom, with no changes done to it except for my dog. He has a bed in the center of the room even though he sleeps on my bed or laundry. I am in my room in a fit of defiance against my parents. As a child, one might be sent to his room for mouthing off or having “too much attitude Noah Joseph!!”, like my middle name ever scared me, but as an adult I go to my room to show them that I don’t need to take their crazy ways, nonsense, and constant bitching. I will give them the ultimate sentence, I will take away my awesomeness and wait for them to come crawling back to me. They will say, “Oh Noah, we’re so sorry. Please tell us about your day. Oh, you are so interesting and we are such complete assholes.”

I have been doing this for 3 days and nothing.

I was in the living room when they came home, thinking that I would be the adult and move things along, start fresh, and continue life, but no. They are still the same assholes they were the day before. The day before I made a German Chocolate cake for a dinner with Grandma and Grandpa that I would not be attending, there was a cliff to be jumped off of with my name all over it. Anyways, I made the cake, I am a very good cook, but as I poured the batter into the baking dish, it wouldn’t even out; I blame the 5 cent cake mix. It looked like a wavy field of wheat, with hills and valleys all over it, and would not flatten out. I thought that maybe it would bake out flat, it did not. I iced it, did the best I could and left Mom a note:

Mom,

I am so sorry about the cake. I thought it would even out like brownie batter, but it didn’t. I’m sure it still tastes fine. Though, if it does not taste fine you can go downstairs and get some Lego men and play “all terrain adventure”.

With this note and the valleys of the cake having a strong resemblance to unleavened bread, and that that might appeal to a religious woman, I thought it was no problem. Clearly I was wrong.

“Hi Mom, how was dinner”

“Fine.”

“Ok, what did Grandma and Grandpa have to say?”

“Nothing.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

Sigh “What did you do to the cake?!?!?!”

“Are you seriously bitching at me because of a cake that I made for YOUR dinner?”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know! It just baked like that!”

No appreciation, no appreciation at all. Dad comes home everyday and asks me when the dogs were taken out last. I could 10 hours or 10 minutes. He will take off his jacket while he’s asking me and then put it back on and take the dogs outside. BITCH, I JUST DID IT.
The other day, just to make a kamikaze attempt at a conversation, I told Dad that I had gotten up at 10:30.

Sigh “That’s pretty late.”

“Well Dad, I usually don’t go to bed until 2 or 3.”

Sigh “Well that’s pretty late too.”

“I’m just not tired at night.”

“Well, that’s cause you’re not waking up until 10 or 11 in the morning.”

“Well, that’s cause I’m not going to bed until 2 or 3.”

“That’s too late.”

“Well, when I didn’t wake up until 10 or 11 it’s not really that late.”

“Well then, you should go to bed earlier.”

“But I’m not tired, and I’m only sleeping 8 hours.”

It continued on like this for a few minutes. It was like some fucked up version of “Who’s on First?”. Last week the palms of my hands were very dry and peeling for no reason. I don’t do manual labor, use weird chemicals; I had no idea why they were peeling. I had almost settled on the conclusion that in my odd hours of sleep I was going into my parent’s bedroom and taking turns strangling each of them in hope to start living the glamorous life of an orphan. That dream was put to rest as I was talking to one of my friends on the phone and she said that when people are really stressed out their hands dry out and peel. If that’s the truth, I should be leaving full body Noah-shaped skin shells around the house on a daily basis.

And lastly, this is a real conversation that happened last night while we were watching Grey's Anatomy. Mom was looking at a holiday magazine:

Me: "I need to get one of those razor blade shear things for Graham's fur. It gets more hair out than brushing and it cuts down on shedding."

Mom: "Well, you can always put it on your Christmas list."

Me: "Ug, I am not even looking forward to Christmas."

Thinking about the holidays, anniversary, birthdays.

Me: "I just want to slip into a comma and wake up in April."

Mom: "...............Well, someone will need to make your car payment."

I gave her a look that would have let any sane person know that that was not the response I was looking for.

Mom: "...........Well, we can't keep paying it forever."

I couldn't make her up if I tried.

A Life in the Movies

Hello all,

I am writing you today from the Borders at Keystone and am wondering why the movies are the way they are when life isn't like that at all. Doesn't art imitate life or vise versa, either way they should be more like eachother. For instance, there is a naturally blonde-haired man sitting across from me and we have exchanged a few glances, he is reading an odd combination of Design Outdoors (some decorator mag for log cabins) and Vibe magazine. Gay? He has not yet smiled at me but he is constantly looking at me. He's cute enough, 5'11, blue eyes, good hair. But seriously, if we were in the movies, we'd be exchanging witty banter and numbers by now.

I think because of my parents focus on my active older brothers and me being raised mainly by TV, I have acquired a delusional version of reality on which to base my life choices. Like, I am still not over the whole break up thing, seriously, I cry everyday! EVERYDAY! It's like someone is pumping my body full of estrogen every night and not telling me. Indie music at the end of Grey's Anatomy on DVD-CRY, listening to any song on the radio-CRY, getting ready for bed at night-CRY. ALL THE TIME- CRY. In the movies I'd be totally OK after a musical montage, I'm thinking maybe something by Leona Lewis or maybe J. Hud......ooh or Fantasia.

Christ on a stick!

Even on Sex and the City, Carrie got some rebound guy and cried in his mouth while she was trying to get over Big. Where's my rebound guy?!?! Mom said last night that I needed to focus on my career (what career?) or maybe on exercise (so now I'm fat?) to get my mind off of how crappy things are. Ug, stock answers. If she would have gotten someone from Pushing Daisies or Frasier to say that I would think maybe she was right. But who am I to believe her?

Oh, if life were like TV or the movies.... Well, for starters, the blonde-haired guy, who has already left, would have come up to me and invited out to see the preview of the new Disney movie Bolt in 3D and then we would have taken a meandering walk by the canal, where he would invite me to his town house 2 blocks away. After that, we would open a bottle of red (It's so late! What am I thinking? Oh, I hadn't noticed how late it was.) and fall asleep, simultaneously, in eachother's arms on his sectional sofa until I was awaken by brunch the next day with no sign of bed head or that I had drooled all over the pillow.

Fuck You, Pendleton Library!

Hello all,


I was writing you a lovely post about giving my dog a bath, I had pictures and everything, but clearly that is not allowed at the Pendleton Community Library. Because CLEARLY pictures of a Scottish Terrier and a plastic tub can be misconstrued as pornography and should therefore be prohibited. My computer keeps on booting me off and it had never done that before. God damn it!


Anyways, I have pictures that would better show the bath tub fiasco, but I guess we'll all have to use our imagination. I got everything ready in the utility room downstairs, and as went to to go get Graham, Mom said,


"Ooh! Can Spike and I come and watch the fun!?!"


"No." and I bolted downstairs with Graham flung over my shoulder.



Lengthwise, Graham had about a foot of room to wiggle around in and only 6 inches on the sides. As far as depth was concerned it was perfectly fine. So the instant I dipped Graham into the tub he bounced out like a Mexican jumping bean and I was completely wet. And nothing says were in for a fun afternoon like wet jeans and socks. Washing him was no problem, but drying him was suddenly a problem. Was I supposed to lift a sopping wet dog, whose first instinct was to shake for about 20 min. out of a plastic tub? Luckily enough, Mom had come down to nose in and she was able to rinse the soap off of him while held him calmly. She then had to dump the water out milk jug by milk jug at a time until I was able to lift him out of the tub and onto the towels. He then proceeded to shake all over me, awesome.



I went upstairs after it was all over and Mom, Dad and I sat down for our nightly routine.



Mom: Well, that worked out pretty well, didn't it?


Me: Uh, yeah, I guess.


Dad: Yeah, Mom told me how it was and I need to get some kind of drainage thing worked out so it's easier to get the water out.


Me: Oh, you mean like a bath tub?



God!!! If my life wasn't tedious enough, I have do deal with the logic of Tweedle-Dad and Tweedle-Mom; where they can't understand what someone is saying based on their color, we eat dinner at 4:30, only have pleasant conversations while talking about the weather, and think that jerry rigging some storage bin downstairs makes more sense for washing a dog than a regular bath tub! Lord take me now.

I hate being in my house, but I'm just not ready to give up that something lucky is going to happen to me and work in some awful job. Even though there isn't too much around the house that reminds me of Fuckhead, I look at the fireplace and see all the pictures and I'm all alone even up there. Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, all my brothers and all their wives, even my nephew's pictures are in pairs. There they are two by two and becomes evident that my name is Noah and there is an ark joke wrapped up in there somewhere. I watch TV and there are so many unattractive people, perfectly happy being married to one another, but HELLO? I'm good looking and right here! Yes, I'm living with my parents, have no job, and no assets to get me out of this situation, but even the ark Noah had a wife and he was like 700 years old.

I normally don't reference Noah's Ark things in direct correlation to myself but I swear it made sense last night as I was watching Craig Furguson. Let's see what else makes sense:

I like animals.

I like boats.

I am waiting for inspiration to give me direction in my life.

I got drunk and exposed myself to my son and ......................... wait that didn't happen to me, well at least not the son part.

Light Bulbs and Bath Tubs

Hello all,

So, the other day I was talking to one of my friends on the phone, I had not talked to him in a few months and he didn't know about my journey to hell(NY) and back. I told him about looking at grad schools, how my life was a hot ghetto mess, everything. He said that he knew going to see Fuckhead was a bad idea the moment I said it and that as far as grad school was concerned, I probably wouldn't be happy with my decision if I rushed all of the application stuff to have it sent there by Dec 1st. He said that he went through a bit of self discovery while he began and left grad school after 1 semester and was now focused on just being happy.

Honest to God here was my reaction, "............................?huh." Happy? Happy. Happy, huh. I had seriously never thought about what would make me happy. Seriously! The whole time I was getting fucked over by Fuckhead, looking at grad schools, finding some crap-ass job, leaving a million messages and texts to Fuckhead about us and getting back my stuff back, and lying around the house with the dogs seeing that they do more in a day than I do, the idea of what would make me happy never crossed into my head. It all seems very Thoreau, whom I have always enjoyed, but I have no idea what would make me happy.

A few million dollars?.......Probably.
A hot new dating prospect?....... Maybe.
The everlasting musculature of a Greek god?........ Definitely.
Knowing that Fuckhead was thrown under a subway train and the remains of his body were eaten by rats that soon after died because of a rare disease contracted from his carcass named Douche-bag-asshole-itus? ..........It's hard to say what might do the trick.

About a few weeks after I got home, the first time, I gave Graham a bath in my mom's tub while she was at school. I cleaned everything but still told her that I had done it, just to make conversation. After she was done freaking out that I washed a dog in her bath tub, she went to reclean it and made me promise that I would never give him a bath in her tub again. Well a few days ago I noticed that Graham was smelling like roadkill and asked Mom how I was supposed to clean him.

"Well, can't you wash him in the sink?"

"Mom, he weighs 35 lbs. No I can't wash him in the sink."

"Well then, I don't know what to tell ya, cause you're not washing him in my tub."

"Fine, fantastic, I'm not asking to wash him in your tub. All I am saying is that if he can not be washed in your tub, where millions of people wash their dogs everyday, you need to think of where I can wash him."

"Fine."

The following Sunday, after Mom and Dad got home from church, Mom came smiling into the house and said that she had found a solution for the problem of where to wash Graham. Knowing that they had just come from church I told her that the baptismal font was not an option.

"He, he, he! No, no, no, go look in the car!"

I returned from the car with a 90 qt. plastic tub. After it was cut up, you could probably fit a dead body in it.

"Well, what do you think?!?"

"Uh......mmm-hm."

"Don't you think that'll work?"

"Um.......yep."

"I just saw it and that it would do the trick and if not I can always use it for storage for my wedding stuff."

"Let me get this straight. I can't wash my dog, who sleeps in my bed, in your tub, but I can wash him in here and if it doesn't work out you will use it for storage for your wedding business, where people rent your wedding stuff, stuff that was stored in a plastic container where I washed my dog?"

"Well, I'll wash it out."

"Like one might wash out a tub?"

"Just use it and tell me if it works or not!"

I will tell you if it works in a later post.

New Leaf, I Swear........Probably.

Hello All,

So yeah, that last post was an angry one. I'm fine-ish though. From what I can gather by Fuckhead's esoteric messages, I will be getting back my things after Thanksgiving.

I don't mean to make my blog a journal or diary of my life but writing on it is kind of like talking to a dog. You can say anything you want and project what response you want the instant it is written. I know my dog has no idea what's specifically happening to me but he's the best listener ever and those adorable brown eyes are going to hurt whatever dating life lies ahead of me cause no man will have the insightful gaze of my little guy. Mr. Wonderful good luck, come and find me.

I kind of want to date now, cause the performer in me really needs the attention, but as I wander around my parents living room I wonder why I don't meet more eligible bachelors just dripping from the walls. Oh that's right, cause they are clearly at the farm down the road. Can you imagine, me and a ruggedly handsome farmer who is also a financial banker/doctor with a love of classical art and pop culture, who also really wants me to stay at home in one of his 4 houses world wide and focus on being awesome. That would be awesome. If any of you 5 people who read my blog are holdin' out on me and not hooking me up with Mr. Wonderful, may my mom and Oprah's God strike you dead.

On a spiritual note: I used to live by the motto, "Go big, or go home", well look where that got me. I know many of you will stop reading my blog as I write this but stay with me and I'll hammer it out. I was watching Evan Almighty(don't laugh) with the 'rents the other night a line struck me the right way(don't judge me),

"When you ask God for courage, do you think he gives you courage? Or does he give you an opportunity to be courageous?"

Now from what I gather, I don't believe in spirituality, I choose to believe in me. "God" is the projection of people in need, enabling them to surrender problems that they can not change in the moment and know that things work themselves out or it becomes unimportant. This line will become my new motto for a few reasons:

1. Morgan Freeman said it and it sounded amazing. Seriously, watch the end of The Shawshank Redemption. He has that monologue about birds in cages, it's like a whole religion in 55 seconds.

2. I really need to start making my life my own. I gave up so many of my ambitions to Fuckhead and adopted his as my own. But he left me and I had no reason to keep moving forward. This is my opportunity to move forward for myself.

This is a revelation that I had while telling Mom to have more respect for other people in the room while she hemmed and hawed over every state that Obama won last night. Geez lady, have a little respect for "the black", as she said, that will be cleaning up the last 8 years that you voted for, twice.

Bad Life Choices

Hello all,

Bad life choices. I'm full of them. Like for instance going to look at my ex-boyfriends blog. I don't know why I do these things to myself. There were all these pictures of him having fun, talking about his new amazing life, all kinds of bull shit like that. And I want him to die. A lot.

I have been trying to contact the mother fucker to give me back the rest of my shit, for 2 reasons.

1. It's mine and he is keeping practically everything we acquired as a couple.
2. I hate you bitch for what you did to me and I wish that I could put my brain in the washer in an "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" feat to get rid of the last 5 1/2 years so that I can reclaim my balls and life to be the best Noah I can be, and if you don't give me my shit, bitch ,I'm gonna come to NY and rip your fucking face off.*

*This is all said mildly in jest. Or is it? You decide.

Fuck head, if you are reading this; GIVE ME MY STUFF OR CONTACT ME FOR WHEN YOU WILL DO SO, SO THAT I WILL NEVER HAVE TO THINK OF YOU AGAIN!!!!!

The Scariest Halloween

Hello all,

Picture it, Oct. 30 10:30 pm. Mom had just woken up for one last cognitive thought from the two and a half hour nap she'd been taking since 8, she'd still doze for another hour before swaggering off to bed.
For no reason I asked her, "Mom, what are we doing for Thanksgiving?"

"Well, we're having Rogers' Thanksgiving the Sat. before, and since Aunt Sue had Christmas last I'll have her and Uncle Bob over for Thanksgiving."

"And what about Christmas?"

"We'll, it's kind of the same thing. All of your brothers and everyone will come over on Christmas eve and Sue and Bobbie will come over for Christmas day."

See if you can tell what was audibly happening to me:

"Hmm ohh ooooha ha hahahaha uuuuuuuhhhhhhh oh oh oh God ah ah aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh shif snif oh."

That's right, at first I was laughing for how unfunny and crappy that sounded and thought "Well, if It's gonna suck it might as well suck really bad." And then I thought of the life I had, the awesome life of a couple for the holidays. You get to pick the family you see, miss the awkward family and most of the time is spent listening to fun music in the car, traveling from home to good part of my family to the good part of his family and back to home. Now I get to explain my failed life to people who I have purposefully been avoiding for the last 5 years.

And by the end of my exclamation my eyes were actually filled with tears. I wasn't full on Oprah crying but it was noticeable. That was the beginning of the scariest Halloween.

I woke up on Halloween morning alone. Not only because I am newly separated, but no one else was actually in the house. I spent the whole day alone. How crappy is that! So I waited around all day, watching the Halloween episodes of everything on TV and finally Mom and Dad came home. They were hell-bent on going to Applebee's or Olive Garden and then coming home to watch (sleep) through Hocus Pocus. With that being one of Mr. Unspeakable's favorite seasonal movies I was happy one of my brothers came over to borrow stuff for his Halloween party.

Over the course of him being there I tried to use my sibling telepathy to tell him to take me with him and save me from this hell hole of a holiday cause it was just to scary. But apparently that meant get chummy with Mom and Dad and leave me be. Since I had nothing better to do all day, and I needed validation, I showed him the cookies that I made for the party (peanut butter oatmeal with Hershey Kisses on top, why some man hasn't snatched me up, I'll never know). He said that they looked nice and Mom chimed in,

"Well, just so you know. He made them with MY ingredients."

No duh, bitch. Like I took the $60 I have to my name and went to the store and bought the ingredients to make some God damned cookies. OR that it just so happen that the 10 random boxes that I was able to acquire from the last 25 years of my life through a failed relationship just so happen to contain the ingredients to make these mother effing cookies. All of that was compiled into a icy glare.

"No I'm just saying that, yes he made them but I supplied the ingredients. They're actually pretty good."

Again, no duh, bitch. If you can read, you can cook. I have always been a good baker, everybody knows. So my brother left, with no lifeline to me, and I watched Stardust with Ma and Pa Kettle.

"I'm going to have to watch this like 5 more times to even get it!", Mom said.

"Try 15."

She deserved that. This coming from the woman who watches Sister Act once a month, stops in the kitchen while watching it and says, ".......Ha ha! Did you see that? I've never seen that part before!" No, really Mom? That's incredible.

On top of all of this fun that could have made me rip the skin off my face, I got no candy. NONE, ZIPPO, NADA. I told Mom this and she said that the candy on the counter in the basket was for everyone. Whoppers, Milkduds, cheapo Halloween chocolates and those "fun size" Twizzlers that are not fun and taste nothing like the real thing. No that is not my Halloween candy.

WORST HALLOWEEN EVER.