Bras, Penis Flaps, and Pinterest! Oh My!

I've been without a stable Internet connection, so I'm not going to apologize for not blogging in a little while. My lovely readers should just suck it up until I'm back to having some reliability in my life again. Sound good? It better. 

So, I was going to write a post last night at like 1 am, but I guess that didn't happen because it's now much later than that and the only clue I have as to what I was thinking about blogging about is this Post-It that says "Home is where the bra comes off." So, I guess that's something I'll be writing about today. Thanks, Past Angela. 

Bras are miracle workers. Depending on your physical build and the style of bra you prefer to buy, those suckers can make you look too damn hot for the party. But I think every girl will agree that there is a time in the day when all you really want to do is take the contraption off and let the pups breathe a little. For me, that's normally around 10 pm because I have a low-tolerance for holding myself back. So, you know, it can be pretty torturous for me in particular if I'm out and about fully dressed too late into the night. I mean, what if it just fused to my body from wearing it for too long? That'd be the worst, guys! 

All I'm saying is don't be too surprised if I suddenly announce at your quant get-together at 2 am that I'm going to take off my bra. I'm not trying to be sexual or anything just because what kind of mood do you think I'm in if I'm that desperate to take off an item of clothing? That's life and I plan on living mine without anything fused to my chest. 

You're welcome, ladies. 

I was with Bruce the other afternoon and it was really hot out, so, naturally, he was complaining about

how he made a poor choice in wearing jeans (I was sensible and stuff because I'm smart). Then I had an idea of sorts.

Me: If I was in your situation, I'd just use that penis flap on your underwear and air my penis out to keep that area not gross and sweaty. 

Him: *probably some comment about how I called it a penis flap* 

Him: I would so do that. 

It'd just be a great and mighty "Screw you!" to the summer heat! Whip out the schlongs and let them bask in a nice breeze from down yonder like hey-oh!

In other news, I got a Pinterest account. I know, I know! But, guys, it's really not as bad as I thought it was going to be. In fact, I might actually like it more than Tumblr. Yeah, I said it. Plus, I think it has brainwashed me or something because suddenly all I want to do is buy bubble bath and drink alcoholic beverages made with fruit while painting random objects in my room. That girl gene must have just kicked in or something. 

Wait, this is what being a girl is like? 

Would You Like Fries With That Shake?

Today, I guess I'm taking a page from my blogging pal Brandon's book by doing a second post! See, I knew getting hooked on his blog would lead to some self-improvement. (Go check out his blog, by the way. He's an awesome writer and a pretty cool cat).

Yesterday I was at work and it was a pretty slow day. I spent a good portion of my shift doing things to
make myself look busy (like cleaning and taking frequent trips to see if the bathrooms were looking okay). There was literally no one customers in the lobby at one point so I decided to refill the sauce packet dispenser thing by the register. As I was neatly arranging packets of soy sauce and hot mustard into this metal bin, my manager was behind me taking his meal break and talking on the phone. I was trying to listen in on his conversation, but he's just a little too Hispanic for me to do that if you know what I mean.

Anyway, I started thinking about whether he always wanted to be a manager at a fast food chain restaurant. Like, when he was growing up, did he have any other ambitions or dreams for his future career? An astronaut, maybe? At what point did he realize the only thing going for him was fast food employment?

Honestly, I thought about asking him because I really was curious. I talked myself out of that, though, as to not seem to nosy.

But, seriously, think about it. People who work in the ultra-glamorous career field of fast food once wanted to do something else with their lives to support themselves. It wasn't like they grew up telling their parents that they wanted to run their own Taco Bell later in life. I wonder what it was that made them think that was all they had going for them. I mean, I don't entirely hate my job, but I would never consider working there for an extended amount of time. There is a point when I actually want to pursue my dream career, ya know?

Don't get me wrong, though! The fast food industry isn't a horrible career field to work in! I am not saying that anyone should be ashamed for being a manager at a Wendy's or Burger King. After all, it's an industry that will probably never die as long as America is still fat and sassy. I'm just considering the fact that these people had ambitions other than fast food.

How do people get stuck with jobs they might never have anticipated? 
How do people get jobs they really love and enjoy and keep them?

Those are things I often think about because I am in college working on a degree that might or might not take me where I want to be in 10 years. I mean, even now, I sometimes lose sleep at night thinking about whether I even enjoy writing anymore. What does that say about me or my future? 

I don't know. I'll just leave that for Future Angela to figure out.

Stop! In The Name of Tacos

It's inching towards 2 am right now, and I am embracing the fact that I have no obligations tomorrow by not going to bed at a decent time. Yes, how lucky am I that I am still young enough to stay up late yet also responsible enough to not be out doing anything illegal or dangerous or, you know, God forbid, fornicating out in the streets of Tulsa on this lovely Friday night. Instead, I've got "Paradise City" playing at maximum volume and mug of hot tea resting between my thighs with absolutely no one to disturb the peace.

I have this thing that I do when I'm bored and avoiding doing anything that might actually come across as productive. Basically, I go on iTunes and I listen to the song previews of songs I think I might want to go download illegally purchase. Little does iTunes know because I don't really have the funds to just throw around on random songs from over the course of history. Steve Jobs is rolling over in his grave right now, I'm sure. Anyway. Back to my oddness. Tonight, I might have resorted to doing just that thing that I was talking about before I got slightly distracted.

I don't know if everyone is aware that iTunes has that genre selection thing where you can pick to see songs from a certain category or whatever. Well, I accidentally clicked on that and saw that iTunes had a selection of classic hits. I was curious, so I tapped that sucker. Long story short: I ended up on the song listing for Diana Ross and the Supremes (aka "I can't see the lead singer behind this skeleton but her back up singers look good"). Please, just don't even ask how I end up doing or listening to the things I do because I don't even know.

Before I know it, I have a photo editing application open and I'm working on the finest masterpiece I believe I have ever thought up. 

I mean, I don't know about any of you guys, but I am seriously surprised that I am the first person to put a supreme taco in the place of The Supremes. Because I Google'd that shit and nothing came up. 

Perhaps we could make a game out of replacing things in pop culture with food items or just random things. Please, give me some suggestions for the next time I'm super damn bored. 

What's In A Rhyme?

I don't know if I've mentioned it on this blog yet, but I've written quite a bit of poetry in the last couple of years. Yes, lot's of it is about men *rolls eyes* and the morbidity of random allegory. What can I say? I write about what I don't understand. After all, confronting what you don't know is the best way to get a grip on what you need to understand. Yup, I have my moments, guys.

I was taking a detour through old text files I've got saved on my computer and, of course, I came across dozens of poems that really sucked. But, let me tell you, there is always a sliver of something good among the bad. I found this poem I wrote back in October of 2011 titled "Night Waltz."

Dawn's awakening leaves her stiff

And the weary winds whipser her departure

She drifted off when the skies were clear

Long ago, when He called her Dear

Canopy grains sheltered her dreams

And kept her sleeping beneath the arms of Michael 

Soft lullaby, sweet timbre of the chosen waves

The darling child, freedom she craves

Guardian keeper of the night dances swiftly

Sways and sighs as the earth envelopes her womb

Bearer of daybreak homily, fragmented nature

Carrying the needed, sunshine allure

And the moon depresses to the ocean floor

Lady of the day sighs a sweet hello

There is a hush, the serenity is taken

And the child stirs, she is awakened

Almost every piece I've ever written has a "thing." This "thing" is normally my muse or train of thought running throughout the piece. It varies almost every time I sit down to write. Sometimes it's a good book I just finished, personal experiences, a certain holder of my heart, or even the pure insanity that sometimes is my mind. Honestly, I don't remember half of what my poetry means to me because sometimes I can't even recall writing any of it. This one, for instance, probably has a great "thing," but, sadly, I have no earthly idea what that "thing" could be.

I remember that the only thing I truly enjoyed writing in my high school creative writing class was poetry. It didn't need structure or plot or characters or anything like that. It didn't need substance or defined meaning. It didn't even need to make sense. I could make everything up, and no one would ever know because they could just decide for themselves what each line meant.

The last poem I wrote was in late September of 2012. I stopped because I got really depressed. The kind of depressed that takes over every aspect of your being. My muse seems to have gone out to have its own epic tale with sexy sirens. And it just hasn't returned home to me yet.

Then again, writing poetry takes an immense amount of concentration for me, so I wasn't even writing THAT much poetry to begin with. It has to be just right. My inner perfectionist had a field day with every stanza. I miss it, though. Somedays I think about opening up to a blank canvas and just going at it like I used to, but it just doesn't happen anymore. I guess this is the erectile dysfunction for poets.

Poet #1: Oh, bro, I totally busted out the hottest haiku ever last night!
Poet #2: No way! Lucky! I have the hardest time keeping mine at the right number of syllables. It's pretty embarrassing.
Poet #1: Aw, man. That's gotta suck. But who says life is all about busting out hot haiku's?
Poet #2: Yeah, it's not like human existence relies on it or anything.

Something like that, maybe.

It's amazing, though. Every song or rap every performed began as poetry. There are entire novels written in verse. People have become famous for writing poetry. It's part of English curriculum in most elementary schools. I just love it.

Perhaps one day my muse will come home to me with open arms, and I'll be able to bust out some hot haiku's again. Until then, my love. Until then...

"Do You Always Have This Much Shit In Your Room?"

Ever heard of that thing called "Spring Cleaning?" You probably have. I don't know your life story. Anyway, it is a little known fact about me, but I love cleaning. It's really relaxing to me, so stop hating, haters. I love cleaning so much that depending on our relationship, I'd probably clean your living quarters if you inquired inside. I could potentially start my own cleaning service if I wanted.

I remember being younger and being asked passionately by my mom to clean my room, and, at the time, it just seemed like the most horrific thing you could ask an 8 year-old to do. I'd end up sitting in the middle of a pile of Barbie doll orgies and food wrappers with, most likely, that Britney Spears/ NSYNC CD that McDonald's gave out a million years ago playing on the stereo on repeat, and I'd have to ask Mom what I was supposed to do next because I was kind of stupid. Oh, how things have changed!

Since coming home from school, I've been working on a long-term thing with my room. I'm calling it "Operation: Let's Flip That Shit" on the down low. Like, way down low.

I'm not even going to lie. I have too much stuff, and I keep almost everything. I decided that when I came home for the summer that I would do one of those overhauls that they do on Hoarders or TLC home makeover shows. Let me tell you, I never knew I had taken so many notes in 10th grade US History until I was putting them all in a big trash bag. The same goes for the horribleness that was AP Calculus.

So, there I am throwing away any sort of evidence that I actually learned anything during those high school years. And you better believe it felt good to let that go. No more bad grades I'd hidden behind notebook dividers. No more little hearts in the corners with "insert-a-super-studly-guy's-name-here" artfully doodled. No more emo lyrics I'd scribbled on the edges of handouts. No more bad memories sitting in a box in my closet. It felt damn good. 

I can't help asking myself why I kept any of that stuff after finals. I have no explanations for anything I did in high school.

Like almost every 13 year-old girl ever, I had a belief at one time in my life that I NEEDED to buy every teeny bopper magazine that had Nick Jonas or any other cute male celebrity that I thought was hot at the time on the cover at the Walgreens by my house. Unfortunately for my parent's wallets, that habit lasted until I was like 16. So, you can safely assume that it felt awesome to dump hundreds of dollars worth of J-14's and Popstar! magazine in the recycling bin. It was a decent workout too.

I also removed the very last pull-out poster from my wall. It was Nick Jonas sitting in a way-too-small-for-his-tight-frame school desk, by the way.

Kind of feels like saying goodbye to my vastly immature past existence. 

I'm still working on my room. It seems like I can't clean my own room without it turning into a tornado disaster site. It may take me the rest of the month to finish... maybe a couple of more days. I don't know.

I'm a lazy person. Shut up.

Trust.

Trust (along with communication and overall compatibility) is one of the key ingredients in any lasting relationship (either platonic or romantic). Honestly, I'll be the first to raise my hand and say that I'm not one to jump on the trust train when I meet people, and that a lot of people don't see me as a proper candidate for someone they want to put their trust in at the end of the day. I have major trust issues because of life experiences, and I have broken the trust of others by doing and saying really stupid things over the years. I'm not perfect, but I'm sure that everyone was already aware of that fickle slice of information. 

In the hustle and bustle of trying to woo someone over or even maintain something that's already been constructed, it is fairly easy to forget to show that you trust someone AND that you're worthy of being trusted. Like cooking bacon, if you leave it alone for too long, something is going to end up burnt, and, let's face it, burnt isn't tasty and it isn't something you'd want to invest your time in. That crap is going straight for the trashcan.

Something happened recently (not something bad, for all those who will read this and assume that some kind of God-awful thing happened) that reminded me that trust is not a simple thing, and it comes in all types of forms. Growing up, trust meant keeping secrets. (Don't tell Bobby that Judy has a crush on her,  Don't tell Lisa she's getting an American Girl sleeping bag for her birthday, etc). Trust was created through verbal agreements like promises and pinky swears. It wasn't until recently that I realized trust can be shown in ways I wasn't even aware of during my adolescence. I've realized I trust others more than I thought.

If I sing in the car (even when I know I don't sound good) when I'm with you, I trust you. If I let myself eat half a pizza while sitting across from you, I trust you not to judge me for being such a fatass. If I allow myself to fall asleep right next to you, I trust you. If I let you touch me at all, I trust you. If I let you see me cry, I trust you. If I let you read my writing, I trust you. If I tell you things you know no one else knows, I trust you. If, despite the struggle I'll put out, I watch something scary with you, you better bet your booty that I trust you.  If I let you in, I trust you.

The catch, though, is that that trust can be gone in a blink of an eye. 

At the end of the journey, I want to be able to look at the people I've brought along with me and know that I'm not going to be betrayed or hurt by any of them. Sadly, I've lost a lot of cool cats along the way so far because of trust issues. As I get older and a little bit wiser, though, I've learned that anyone who didn't cut it has had something in common with the others who also didn't cut it.

I want to be surrounded by those I love and those who send love in return. Is that too much to ask for?

Hey June, Don't Make It Bad

Happy June, lovely readers! Although I have no idea if anything cool happens in June due to the fact that I haven't changed the page of my zombie-themed calendar yet, I'm sure there's something. And, if not, whatever.

Mike Falzone and Coffee Girl

Anywho, lucky me is on a day off from work today, so that pretty much gives me permission to do nothing that can be defined as physical movement. Happy day! In reality, though, I'll probably end up trying to finish unpacking (a chore that seems to have taken me three blissful weeks to complete, mind you) my stuff from college along with cleaning my room while listening to Mike Falzone's podcast "Welcome to the Podcast!" (which you should totally go give a listen because he and his lady are hilarious and it is totally free and available on iTunes! **language warning for the kids**). Actually, none of that will probably happen, but it's nice to think about, ya know? But for now, I'm just going to take some time to write this lovely blog post. Boom!

With the summer heat starting to roar into Oklahoma, I've been hit with a lot of nostalgia. Past summers have typically been pretty nice to me (with exceptions here and there). Concerts of the Jonas Brothers variety (don't judge, just put yo' pom poms down for me), going to the local water park, staying up until who-knows-when and sleeping until never-gonna-happen after drinking energy drinks (Grape NOS and Black Mamba Venom Energy were once the only ways I could pretend to be awake) and having access to the Internet. Smells like summer, right? Oh, the good old days when I didn't have responsibilities or financial burdens. 

Sexxxy

The summer before my freshman year of high school, if I remember well, was actually a pretty decent summer. Despite my constant need to update my at-the-time blog (mentioned in detail here) and fiddle around on Paint Shop Pro, my life wasn't entirely consumed by one thing. That summer was the summer of movies for me. I was fresh out of middle school and still in contact with my close friends
from those torturous years, so we went to the cinema all the time (it probably wasn't actually all the time, but actually like 3 times pfft). Can we all just take a moment of silence for emo Peter Parker in Spider-Man 3? *touches up eyeliner* Okay, we're done with that.  At the time, though, he was the hottest thing in my mind. That summer I also ate a lot of Arby's. I don't even know.

STOP JUDGING ME! YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE!

But the big thing about that summer was the loss of my J-Card. Yup, that was the summer the Jonas Brothers entered my life and stayed a long three years. I can't even remember how exactly I found the Jonas Brothers. Was it that I had their catchy single "Year 3000" on my iPod?  I don't even know. I just know that I was hooked. Here, I'll paint you a picture! I found out they were coming to Tulsa, so I begged for tickets (which had a cost of $27.50 each, btw. That's never going to happen ever again). I wanted a physical copy of their out-of-print debut album so I found a copy on eBay for like $30. They had a new album coming out in August of that year, so you know I had to preorder that ish. Sadly, though, that was probably the cheapest year for my JB obsession.

Man, my life is so sad. 

I'll tell you what pisses me off about that whole JB ordeal, though. At the concert, they did meet-and-greets afterwards and each pass was like $20 (HAHAHAHAHAAH!). I made the biggest mistake of my whole life that night. I decided to not get a M&G pass and instead get a stupid t-shirt and hat! Disastrous, I know! But whatever! 

Life goes on. But, as you can see, I'm still not over it. Never.