Go Home, October. You're Drunk.

Welcome, October! Time for me to once again ignore the hustle and bustle over pumpkin spice bullshit and countdown to the next major holiday that releases me from the cold, dead grip of junior year of college for like a week. That basically means that October is going to be the longest month ever.

So, every once in a blue moon, I have these realizations about my life and myself and who I am and what I am doing and what I want and why I want it and how I can get it and then my attention returns to its normal obsession with garlic bread and various carbs smothered in cheese. I mean, this happens like twice a year, so trust me... I really don't actually have that much going on in my head at once for prolonged periods of time. That being said, I had one of those moments recently (obviously, or, you know, I wouldn't be talking about this and wasting your time with my unnecessary banter. Oh wait. That's my blog in a nutshell.).

One of my favorite quotes is this:

"You like him because he’s a lost boy. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail." 

-David Levithan

That quote didn't really have a direct connection to my life until I looked at myself for the first time in a really long time and started to realize how different things have become. 

I've always had a knack for lost people. I think I've always kind of had this idea that I could maybe fix and complete those lost people I found. Of course, now that I'm older, I realize that I can't fix anyone (that's a job for them and them alone), but I am constantly fixated on the dream that that might still be possible. In the end, though, I think I don't actually do any good. I just get tangled up in all the lostness that I try to eliminate. 

I am incredibly lost, without a map and compass. Where I got lost, turned around and around and around, I don't remember. 10th grade? Senior year? College? Behind the counter at that chinese fast food establishment I worked at all summer? 

Who knows? 

But I guess being lost isn't terrible because sometimes you get to take the off-roads and take the detours that lead to dead ends and then you get to turn around and see it all again. And you just keep driving until you hit a familiar spot. I mean, who doesn't love taking the scenic route? 

Oh! The People You'll Meet At The Gym!

I'm a frequent frequenter (five stars for redundancy) of the gym. Like, I go maybe 5 times a week, so that's a lot of times and a lot of my time spent with sweaty strangers. And, over the course of my lifetime at the gym, I've seen a lot of types of people huffing and puffing and grunting beside me. I've actually come to categorize these people because, well, when you're just walking up an incline for an hour, you get really bored and need things to keep your mind busy.

So, I present to you: the people you'll meet at the gym.

1. The foreigners who don't understand the custom of wearing deodorant. Yes, I know that sounds terrible when you really think about it, but seriously. You are in America now. We have deodorant everywhere you can buy pretty much anything because people like to smell good. Now, because you don't wear deodorant when you workout, you smell like goat testicles. Okay, I don't actually know what goat testicles smell like, but I am sure that they don't smell like a walk through the freaking tulips. So, if you go into a gym in an area that is populated by people from other countries or just really any country where large quantities of body hair is popular, you're probably going to run into a few people who smell really freaking bad.

2. The bodybuilders who look like they have seriously been lifting weights since they moonwalked out of their mother's hooha. Yeah, you know who I'm talking about. I'm totally cool with the fact that they have muscles bigger than my head, but damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. How? Or, an even better question, where do you find shirts and pants that fit your humongous muscles? Well, I'm sure if I had their bodies, I just wouldn't even bother buying clothes. I'd just be like "Yo, check out my pectorals and other muscles that I don't know the names of! Bow down, puny peasants!" I mean, sure, it's a little intimidating. Like, I look over at the bodybuilders when I'm doing resistance training and I feel like I might as well not even try because look at their muscles. If you're like me, you might want to stay away from the big shots.

3. The girls who are going to run a 12 minute mile so they can feel slightly better about the amount of beer they'll be consuming that night. Yeah, I know what you're doing. After so many people plop down on the treadmill next to me and all do 12 minutes on it, I kind of get the picture. I mean, girl, I get it. I'd do the same thing if I had the social expectations of thirsty thursday riding on my gluts every week, but seriously. There are other things you can do besides that mile. I'm just saying. Yes, I know, I'm a gym snob. Sue me.) Plus, your hair looks way too neat for you to be at the gym. And are you wearing Chanel right now? But at least they didn't give in to pole dancing to burn their calories. Hola!

4. The people who are only at the gym because they decided to stick to their New Year's resolution. Finally, someone is saying it. I am totally supportive of the fresh meat that walks through the doors of the gym at the beginning of the year. I think that is fantastic that they are up for getting fit and healthy despite the unbelievable amounts of doughnuts and Big Mac's they ate the previous year. And, hey look, it's April and you're they're still here. That's even more impressive. I applaud your effort! And bonus points for not doing your hair or makeup before you came!

5. Old people! Okay, this is my favorite thing to see at the gym. Especially when it's elderly couples that exercise together. It kind of melts my inner bits and pieces every single time I see them. And what gets me is that they go hard when they workout. Like, they are there to win the gold and whoop some youthful ass with their age spots and war tattoos. They don't even have earbuds and an iPod. They are just loose skin and bones. And it's damn adorable. 

So, if you think you won't fit in at the gym and so you don't go, shut up. There are some real freaks at the gym. Myself included. So, just get up off your ass and go break a sweat. And, please for the love the good Lord upstairs, put on some deodorant. The world will thank you for that!

Crossin' & Creepin'

Well, do they?

So, my best girl friend who isn't Julia, Darian, likes to constantly keep me in-check with the outrageous things that come out of my mouth. She calls it crossing lines. Sometimes I'm just a toe over the line. Other times, I'm crossing so many lines that it's impossible to keep track. It's important to note that I rarely think about what I am going to say before I say it. That just takes up time that I could be talking and the other person could be responding. Plus, it just keeps people wondering what kind of magical stuff is happening up in my noggin all the time. Like, holy shit, what is this girl going to say next because there is no way she can top that? And, you know, I'd rather be an awkward enigma than a walking, talking computer reading from a socially-accepted script like the rest of society.

I live on the 11th floor of my residence hall (do not call it a dorm. I will go all off on your ass if you do), so my elevator rides normally pick up a stranger or two. This is always fun for me because I can either talk to these people and be a normal, social person, or I can shy away in the corner admiring the luscious ringlets of Heaven flowing from their heads in secret. Sadly for me, I normally don't keep many of these admirations or thoughts to myself.

Me: *in elevator alone praying there aren't any pointless stops*
Elevator: *suddenly stops on a random floor*
My thoughts: Shit.
Stranger: *gets on the elevator equipped with tons of swag*
Me: *notices they have great hair/eyes/legs/shoes/etc*
Me: You have really beautiful eyes.
Stranger: Uh, thanks.
Me: *silent for the rest of the ride* 

Every. Single. Day. Of. My. Life

Back home, at a QuikTrip gas station, there is a guy who works at night, and, without fail, every single time I see him working, I always make a comment about his name tag. See, it says his first name and then his last initial, which is an "S." So, I always ask him if the "S" stands for sexy. I don't know why I do this. This guy isn't even that attractive. It's just an uncontrollable urge.

Sometimes I cross lines with my friends. We'll just be talking about something totally normal, and, like the freak of nature that I truly am all the damn time, I suddenly take the topic one step too far and it just becomes this huge awkward silence of disapproval. They'll just be staring at me like, "Angela, why did you just say that? That was totally uncalled for. ugh. You're ruining our lives."I just feel like a nuisance because I can't truly ever censor myself. Or, if I do censor myself, I just censor the completely wrong thing, so I still say something that I probably could have kept to myself. Or, even worse, I'll just stare at people. I like to observe things that seem so normal to everyone else. Like, people in lines at stores or fast food joints. I'll try not to make it too obvious, but, ya know, if they notice that I'm staring, that's cool.

I don't mean to be such a creep sometimes. It just happens. Like, I can't just change that. I'm a socially-challenged writer. How am I ever supposed to fully understand human interaction unless I standby in the shadows being awkward and saying highly inappropriate things to other people? Simply, I can't.

I'm just a psych evaluation waiting to happen. 

Angela & The Ferocious Bruce

For the last two years, I've pretty much had the most amazing partner-in-crime aka devil's advocate aka very best friend aka Bruce. Needless to say, I have no freaking idea where I'd be without this crazy fothamucka (what? you think I'd actually use that kind of vulgar language on my blog? what kind of girl do you think I am?) in my life. While, like everyone I know, he can make me think he's a total pain in my shrinking ass, there have just been too many awesome adventures and illegal questionable moments over time for me to get rid of him. Plus, he knows way too much. Gotta play it safe, right? 

Look at that posture! What a pro!

One of my favorite Bruce moments (like might possibly be number one, seriously) happened in the summer of 2011. We were hanging out, and he suddenly, for reasons I can't explain (so please don't ask me to!), had this ridiculous need to make pancakes. Holy shit. So, he goes to make these pancakes, and he's putting all of his mighty concentration into making these pancakes. And there I am laughing my pants off at him while he's trying to make the most perfect pancakes this world has ever seen. So, he's slaving away over his yummy meal, when he goes to flip the first pancake. I don't know what was going on his head when he decided to flip said pancake, but I don't think the pancake was prepared to be flipped how it was. It just seemed to fall apart into a big crumbled mess.

So, then he tries again with a second pancake, but, once again, his efforts failed. The second pancake turned out just as screwed up as the first. But, never fear, Bruce took his cooking like the man he is. He devoured that plate of orgasm-worthy pancakes like a real champ. And didn't share or offer any to me. 

Then, of course, there was the time when he forced me to watch a very terrifying movie called Insidious (which I do not recommend to anyone with eyes). Yes, for the record, I was forced against my own will to watch this very scary movie. I protested it the whole time. I probably sounded like a real wimp with all my begging and pleading for him to let us watch something happier... like pretty much anything but this one movie. I'm pretty sure there were actually times when he had me held down with his hands holding my head in the direction of the TV, but please don't quote me there. The entire time, I was on the line of peeing myself and actually dying from fright. And then the end (which I won't spoil for you because that'd be just cruel) came and BAM! I probably peed myself a little. Not even going to lie about that. And he made fun of me because I couldn't take the movie like a pro. Whatever. That movie was no tiptoe through the blasted tulips. I will never watch that movie ever again (ya know, in case you thought I enjoyed it or anything). But at least we added a super cool song to the soundtrack of our friendship, right? (aka Tiptoe Through the Tulips by Tiny Tim)

Yes, I did kick his ass. You can just tell from my face. 

We've been through so many good and bad times together, and I can't imagine having any of our experiences with anyone else. Our friendship isn't just the deformed pancakes or me being forced to participate in things against my own will. It's so much more than that. It's coming home passed my curfew smelling like cigarette smoke. It's walks to QuikTrip to get the donuts they just put out way too late at night. It's ditching Julia to go buy red shoes. It's getting way too drunk and then being hungover for a week. It's watching tortoises go crazy on each other at the zoo for a highly inappropriate amount of time.  It's the exchange of Stephen King novels. It's staying up until 6 am for the other just because that's what friends do. It's so much that I can't possibly fit it all into this one post. 

I think anyone who has a best friend understands that you can't put multiple years of friendship into words. Especially when, at one point or another, neither of you were truly in your right minds to make any smart decisions, let alone remember what you said or did (even if that means the other won't believe that they goosed you on St. Patty's Day while they were under the influence).

I'm just so happy that I get to have you as a part of my life, Bruce. I know that the last couple of months have been brutal (that actually might be downgrading it, so I apologize) for you, but I'm not planning to jump ship anytime soon (or ever, really). You're an amazing person and you care so much about the people in your life, and I couldn't have asked for a better best friend than you. 




So, happy 23rd birthday, Barnacle Puff. Let this year be a year full of laughs and adventure and chances to be the best you can be. You deserve that more than anyone. Love you, sweet pea.

Friendship Lesson Learned: No, that monkey doesn't have two asses, Angela. That's a female. 

Now That You're An Adult In College ...

Because your breath smells terrible and it's blowing in my face right now

... You should already know how to tame your horrendous assfart morning breath. Please don't make me sit next to you in class or in a car or just be in the same one-mile radius of you if you have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad smell protruding from your mouth. No, coffee doesn't make your breath smell better. It makes it worse. Like way worse than you can probably imagine. Have you ever tried eating or popping a piece of gum in before heading out into the real world? Brushing your teeth doesn't finish the job. Please, don't kill me this early in the morning. I am a good person (kind of), and do not deserve this kind of torture.

... You should already know how to share communal spaces. Didn't we learn this in like pre-school when we were 4? I'm pretty sure I spent most of my time when I was 4 picking my nose, watching Barney and Friends, and peeing my pants, yet I still managed to grasp that shared spaces are shared... not dominated by your rudeness and inconsiderate nature. Why are you still not understanding that if 4 people are sharing a dorm bathroom, you can't pretend that you own the shower and can just casually leave every single shampoo, conditioner, and razor that you own in it? Are you the spawn of Satan? The same goes for getting your fugly hair out of the drain when you're finished. I ain't no maid. I'm not going to clean that shit up for you because it's disgusting. Don't get mad at me when I move your over-priced salon shampoo because I need to put my stuff there for my 15-minute shower. I paid for that space too.

... You should already know no one is required to like or even tolerate your whiney self. Remember how in elementary school everyone was forced to get along and you had to be nice or you'd get in trouble? You can pretty much forget all of that. Yes, you should respect people because that is common courtesy, but you are not required to be associated with assholes and douchebags and bitches who you don't even like. Thus, if I don't like you or want people to think I like you because I really don't like you, I'm probably going to avoid you at all costs. Please don't take my absence as me playing hard to get or fearing that I might come on as clingy. That's not it. I just don't like you. And you don't have to like me.

... You should already know how to keep your crush on the professor a secret. Yes, I'm talking about you, girl in my religious studies class. We all know you're hot for teacher. Not only does it make him uncomfortable, but it also makes class just a tad bit awkward to sit through. It's like watching animals at the zoo mate. No one really wants to see that, so, please, keep it in your pants, girl. He's married, and you're... you, so I think it's safe if you just keep your creepy affections to yourself. Yes, he's hot. Everyone knows he's good looking in that weird teacher way, but you don't see anyone else flinging themselves at him all through class. Just saying.

... You should already know that the real world isn't a nice place. Yeah, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but it's kind of mostly true. People are mean and sometimes shitty stuff happens to sort of-okay people. You're probably not the only one who is having a bad day or week, so please don't act like it. We're all living in this world with you, so we get it. And, you know, we'd all love to hear you complain or read your 3 am tweet rant from last night, but we really just don't care. If this was the 7th grade and Johnny Bravo had kissed your arch nemesis and your mom forgot to put a pack of Disney Princess Fruit Snacks in your lunch, we'd probably understand and sympathize. But it's not the 7th grade. This is  adulthood. Suck it up. 

Today, I'm Gonna Eat

I love food. I love eating food. I love smelling food. I love ordering food. I love looking at food. Yeah, so I pretty much love everything about food and eating. The only thing I don't like about food is that it is limited and will be gone eventually. It's one of the things that keeps me alive, so why wouldn't I love it? Some people, though, seem to think that you can't eat if you want to look good. Apparently, the only way to get skinny is to become a rabbit and only eat like nothing at all every single day. Uh, no.

In the last 9 months, I've lost 60 freaking amazing pounds (and I'm still dropping, by the way). I guess that is supposed to make me an expert on health and fitness and weight loss (well, that's just what I assume from all the questions I get about what I do or if I have any tips on how someone else can drop some weight). Newsflash, I'm not an expert. I just saw weight loss as a no-brainer after a while. Also, I've been on so many damn diets and nutrition plans over the last 20 years of my life, that I already had a general idea of what you need to do to boost your health and drop some lard.

If there is one piece of advice I could give anyone trying to lose weight it's this: please eat. 

I'm constantly asked by people who knew me before I shrunk a million sizes, "Angela, what do you eat? Girl, you look so good!" I eat whatever the hell I want. That's my answer. While I have adjusted my eating habits (for instance, I don't stuff my face full of junk food all the time. Common sense, guys), I don't restrict myself on anything. I don't see the point. I love food way too much to police myself. That just creates misery. Plus, at least when I don't see numbers drop the scale, I know why.... unlike if you're not eating and not dropping.

My goal is to look good, feel good, and be able to live life. If I get down to a size 6 and can't eat Bruce's freaking orgasmic taco soup because I'm afraid it will cause me to gain weight or that it will make me any less beautiful than I already am, that's not living. There are so many fattening meals that I haven't tried or even imagined yet, and, dammit, when I get a chance to eat those things, I want to be able to jump right in without thinking twice.

The other night, I was talking to my friend Taylre about needing new jeans because my current pairs are a bit large on me, and she made an amazing point. She said that she'd rather buy new pants than stop eating cookies because cookies are the shit. (Those aren't her exact words, but whatever).  Gaining weight or a bit of pudge in the stomach is not the end of the world. It doesn't mean you're ugly or worthless or something nasty. It just means you need new clothes. 

So, yeah, today, I'm going to eat and not worry about my weight. I'm going to eat because my body needs food. Hungry and skinny doesn't equal beautiful or healthy. So, if you're hungry, go eat. Go eat whatever sounds good. Your body is probably trying to tell you something. I always listen to my cravings to see what my body needs. You should too.

Lesson learned: I love a plate of nachos that is bigger than my head. I'm a classy girl, guys. 

***This week's National Eating Disorder Awareness week. If you'd like to learn more about being informed about eating disorders, check out this article on ActiveMinds.***

Dream A Little Dream of Me

When I dream, I feel half awake. It kind of feels like I can control what's happening inside my head, but, at the same time, feel the warmth of my sheets or detect that the pillow definitely needs to be flipped to the cooler side. I'm not sure if this can be considered lucid dreaming. My dreams are always a little weirdly realistic. I used to not be able to remember my dreams at all, but then, over time, I suppose, I began to remember more and more.

There is something weird about my dreams, though. If there is a man in the dream that seems to be the one I am "with," I can't see his face. I can hear his voice... It's always a familiar voice. And I know who he is. Sometimes he's someone that I know or have known in the past. Sometimes he's a celebrity figure. Other times, he's just a figment of my imagination.  It's just that when I look up at him, I am blinded. It's like someone somewhere turned the lights right into my eyes. I have to shield myself or look down. It's kind of like when you wake up from a deep sleep, and you reach over to check the time on your phone, and you're just blinded by the illumination of the screen. What does this mean? What does it mean to not be able to look into the eyes of someone in a dream? It's frustrating at times.

I can feel myself yearning to be able to look at this figure in the dream. I know what he looks like. Why can't I just see him with my eyes?

I decided to look into this repetitive element in my dreams. Here's what I found:

According to a bunch of google searches on the subject, I found that being blind in a dream means you are refusing to see the truth about a situation. You are just rejecting something about yourself that you have denied for so long. This makes a lot of sense to me. If I can't see this man's face, maybe I just haven't come to terms with feelings for him... or I'd just rather pretend that they don't exist. To look at him would be to acknowledge that there is a spark or a true desire for him. Then, light, apparently, means clarity or discovering the truth. So, it kind of goes hand-in-hand, right? 

I think it will be interesting when I can finally look him in the face in my dreams... If that ever happens, I'll have to let everyone know.

I think it's fascinating that dreams can just be dreams... and other times, they can act as goggles to see all the weird inner-workings of the mind. It's like your mind wants to reveal secrets and stuff to you while you're asleep. The mind is really cool like that.

Ready! Aim! Fire!

Credit: http://beatrizmartinvidal.deviantart.com/art/Target-10772463

In my 20 years of life, I've learned two very important things when it comes to friends:
1) Not everyone wants to be your friend and
2) Everyone has that one friend or family member who likes to use you as their own personal punching bag or target in a shooting range. I want to talk about the latter today. I think there is just something about me that gives people the idea that they can whip out their guns and ammo or their arrows and aim them right at me whenever they are in a bad mood or are dealing with something that has absolutely nothing to do with me. And, while I understand that it might just be me being at the wrong place at the wrong time, it pisses me off. 

You know, I'm a very caring person by nature, so I'm always trying to figure out how I can make someone else's day or week better if I am aware that their days might be full of fresh shit, but when the other person decides that I am the one to blame for every damn thing that happens to them, I feel it's only right for me to be a little really insulted and pissed off. Like, I came to your aid to listen or help you work whatever the hell is going on out, and you turn the guns on me? Why? Why the hell does that happen? It's actually kind of funny.... The way it happens, that is.

Them: ... so then my boss got mad at me because I did *blah blah blah* wrong. My day has been a pile of shit!
Me: Man, that sucks. But I'm sure your boss was right to get onto you for that. After all, they are your boss! Maybe you should try harder tomorrow to show them you're not useless.
Them: No, Angela! You know what's useless? You! You're not even listening to me! Why did I even come to you? Why can't you put your emotions aside for once and let me vent? *blah blah blah*
Me: Wait... What? I didn't say -
Them: You're pissing me off! You will never work as hard as me, so don't try to tell me what to do at work! Also, while we're talking about it, you can't have opinions on drugs or love or sex or religion or broadway musicals or shitty emo bands or whether you learn to use chopsticks or good Mexican cuisine! I don't even want to talk to you anymore! Telling you was a horrible mistake!
Me: Uh.
Me: Erm.
Me: Okay.

Like, where does this shit even come from? And it's not just one person who does this to me either! It's almost everyone I have a close relationship with... you know, people I'd expect not to jump on my case like that. It's at school. It's at home. It's people I've only known for a short while. Is it me? Is it them? I really don't even know. But it always leaves me asking: Whose asshole did I uninvitingly penetrate to get that reaction?

I'M NOT GONNA BE A PART OF THIS SYSTEM!

But, of course, like always, I'm the one who ends up apologizing for whatever the hell I supposedly did or didn't say because I'm an adult! (Then again, I'm the one blogging about this... so maybe I'm not an adult?)

Either way, I always know that I'm not an intended target for these people. I'm just there when it's not always the best of times for them.... and things can be messy at those times. And, if anything, I've learned how not to act when I'm upset so I don't cause frustration for anyone I know.

Lesson learned: my friends and family aren't shitty.... just very angry.