Think Again!

Ok, so this whole workout thing hasn't been going so great. Of course, with Christmas just passed and New Years quickly on its way, not to mention I'm flying out a week from tomorrow, I've been a little busy. Today, I counted my workout as my work. I pushed a 3,500 lb Pontiac GTO from a garage on to a trailer, then from the trailer into the yard of our new home, then from the yard into a raised shop with the help of some homemade ramps. Between getting it off the trailer and into our new yard, our wench broke, and the entire car came crashing down on me. I'll be fine, but parts of me hurt that I didn't even know existed. As well as being badly bruised and exhausted, I had to continue to help push the car into the shop.

No workout for me for a couple of nights.

I will, however, pick up again next week and let you all know how its going :)

On another note, the semester ended with a 4.0, despite the fact that I went to my Intro to Computers course a total of two times. And I didn't attend the final.

I love college.

New Year's Resolution

So, I know it's a little early to be worried about New Years, but Christmas crowded out my Thanksgiving, so I figured "what the hell?".

I have decided that I am getting into shape, and I have also decided that I will post pictures on a weekly basis until I reach my goal to show if it's working or not. I don't have enough time or money to worry about a gym or equipment, so everything I'm doing will be something that everyone can do. I will be doing this workout every weekday, and taking weekends off. Along with working out, I will be drinking more water, and less soda. Other than that, I'm not changing my diet. I love food too much to cut anything out.

So, week one and here is my physique:

The whitest person to own a dream catcher.

Not so great, but not far too bad. All I really want is definition, not really weight loss. So, stay tuned for another picture next week, and the details of my self-made workout. Also, my workout is personalized and mostly for abs, but everything I'm doing I've learned from anatomy, kinesiology and physiology classes. So, wish me luck!

Much Delayed

I realize I haven't posted anything in quite a while, but I have had my reasons. Unfortunately college has the indisputable ability to completely consume my life. Along with trying to keep up a thriving social life and a 4.0, I've let my blog slip a little.

Also, there has been one more thing.

I'm a little extremely embarrassed about what's been keeping me busy for the past couple of weeks. I've been reading. I know this doesn't seem like something that should be negative, but it's the material that I've been completely engrossed in that may be a little disturbing. Even more so for those who know me.


I read Twilight.

That's right. I powered through the entirety of the series in a little over a week. I would really love to chalk that up to Twilight being insanely simple, stupid or just so easy to interpret that it was a quick read and I hated it. The truth is a little more embarrassing than that. I completely and utterly fell in love with this series, and I just couldn't let myself put it down for any length of time. Granted, I'm no Twi-hard or anything like that, and I am by no means going to start an expedition for "my Edward", but I must say I really loved the series. It was extremely easy to read, a thoroughly written story with a solid plot line and very well-defined characters, and I just simply liked the way it read.

And no, I'm not taking sides.

Although if I had to, I would be team Edward. Just as a hypothetical.

Wait....

Also, this bitch from Twilight has a huge forehead.

Damn.

At any rate, I would actually recommend this for anyone who is lacking a little romance in their lives. For a young adult series, it's actually pretty frisky. But enough of that, back to things that don't make me look like a total idiot.

I've also just gone through a rather long move into a new home. While I was moving, and we were in need of some fast food, I decided to go to Taco Bell for everyone's dinner.

Big mistake.

The first Taco Bell I went to had the stereotypical horrible drive through service aimed at confusing me and giving me something I didn't want. I somehow ordered 10 hard tacos which was nowhere near what I wanted, and after pulling forward about 10 feet I panicked and took off, never to visit that particular restaurant again. Not because of service issues, but what if they recognized my flighty face?


I hope you enjoyed this odd post, and hope to hear from you all :) Until next time!

Late Nights...

Salvador Dali's "Sleep"

Mr. Sandman

Wrap me in your arms, Mister Sandman,

Sweep me away from here.

Lift me, lucid, if you can,

on wings devoid of fear.

Slip your fingers behind my eyes,

let in the stuff of sleep.

Caress my ears with lullabies,

and sweep me off my feet.

Keep me safe throughout the night,

held in your longing touch,

but let me go when life resumes,

for death would be too much.

I was bored and couldn't sleep so I whipped this up... hope you enjoy!

Fright Nights

In my last post, I mentioned my involvement with a haunted house, and my excitement for being a part of what actually terrifies me. Things have been going much, much better than expected.

Initially, I was worried that I would be unable to scare people. Although I am by no means conceited, I do realize that I am a fairly attractive, young, blonde woman, and I was afraid that it would be hard to make me into something terrifying without the use of a mask. I was, thankfully, wrong.

I showed up the day before they were set to open, afraid that these people who had been at this for years would be resistant to someone like me: a nerdy, overly-friendly bubbly twenty-one year old girl who looks like a high school sweetheart. I couldn't have been more wrong. This group is full of people that I've really grown to love, and although they are a little different, they are exactly my brand of odd. They invited me in with open arms, and I can truly see this as something I stick with for many years to come.

The house itself is very impressive, and not at all what I was expecting. Although they terrify me when I am forced to walk through, I always imagined a haunted house in the daylight to be something hokey, childish and cheap. This house, however, is very intricate, well thought out and detailed. They went to extraordinary lengths for something that is strictly for charity and to scare the ever-loving shit out of people.

Without going into too much detail, the house itself is enclosed in a small warehouse, divided by drywall and trap doors into what, now, looks like the somewhat logical organization of a house in that it contains a kitchen, living room, bedroom (my room), bathroom and den. It does, however, have some odd components."The vortex" is a spinning circular room with a metal mesh walkway that makes you feel absolutely drunk while walking through. It's pretty impressive. Also, on the way from the ticket booth to the actual house, you get to ride a bus. A terrifying, horrible bus that I was subjected to last night. Without ruining the surprise for those who wish to visit the house... it contains clowns. For my previous readers, let me remind you that I am absolutely, horribly shaken by clowns. Enough said.

Now into what I have accomplished in the three nights we have been open. The room I am in is very small, so that when people walk in they literally have about two feet between the bed I am laying on and the wall. I am underneath a blacklight with a strobe light flashing in the corner, in a blood covered dress. I didn't realize how much it would freak people out, but I'm a bit of a contortionist, so I make my neck appear almost broken to freak people out when they walk in.The bed is on  hydraulics, so when a group reaches the foot of the bed, I hit a button and it begins to rock. So far, one man has shat himself, MANY have started crying, more than a few have run out as fast as physically possible, and a few interesting things have happened.

1. An older woman walked into the room, and upon realizing I was Reagan from "The Exorcist", covered her eyes and started singing "this little light of mine" as loud as she could while running from the room. It was all I could do to keep from laughing.

2. A young boy (he looked around 11 or 12), walked into the room, saw me on the bed, and said "giggity giggity" before running out.

3. A group of frat boys who were making very vulgar comments about me laying in bed were trying to act tough... until the bed popped up and I screamed, at which point they all screamed like little girls and tried to run into the corner. A couple refused to move as I was on my hands and knees so they would have to walk right by my face. Priceless.

4. At the very least, I have three guys a night say something along the lines of "Dude, no, look she's actually pretty", which for some reason has been an amazing ego boost.

5. More than enough comments on "Oooh a girl who knows how to make the bed rock" or "I wish she was sitting on me while that bed was rocking", etc. Obviously, they need the extra help of a moving bed. It's amazing how easy it is to dehumanize someone because they're wearing makeup or a mask. I know for a fact that these boys would be too terrified to say anything like that to my face outside of that situation.

6. One guy literally pooped himself. The website listed below has statistics on people who pee, poop themselves, "chicken run" out of the house and throw up, but I didn't expect this many to happen with me. After I popped the bed up, one man said "dude, what is that smell?" (it absolutely reeked), and his friend yelled "JUST KEEP WALKING DAMNIT!" Made my night.

You're probably all wondering what I looked like, so here is a picture of me and another girl that works at the haunted house.

In case you can't tell, I'm on the right.

Although I like the way it turned out, this is more what I was going for:

Ugh.

Also, for more information on the haunted house, or for ticket information, click here. Thanks for powering through this post, and more to come!

Haunted Houses

As I mentioned in a previous post, I am fairly terrified of clowns. For some reason, probably closely related, I am also terrified of haunted houses.

When I was a child, I went to one, single haunted house, and that was quite enough for me. Although looking back now, it was very cheesy and would probably make even a child laugh, I was still horrified. At the age of 20, I then went to one more haunted house. The absolute disaster that followed can be read in my previous blog "The Horror".

Now it's my turn.

A very good friend of mine has invited me to join in the festivities of her local haunted house. As she is currently pregnant (and we are all very excited!) she cannot be a part of the scare this year for safety reasons. As her weirdest, craziest friend, Lauren has invited me to take her place. You would think I would be more sympathetic, and try to be a little less scary since I have been in the position of complete and utter terror.

Wrong.

I'm giving this all I've got. I'm going in full out crazy, and my ultimate plan is to make at least one person cry. I will be dressed in a white lace wedding gown splattered with blood, full out white face makeup (like I really need it), hollowed out eyes, wild hair, and all the fake blood anyone could ever want. I will be on a hydraulic bed which will rock back and forth while I writhe like a crazy person. In other words, I'm going to be scary as hell.

I will begin this endeavor two days from now, and pictures will be on their way. One thing I can't quite figure out is what I should do, and any comment would be appreciated. I'm torn between:

A. Screaming like a terrifying banshee
B. A combination of mumbling and creepy singing
C. Making no noise whatsoever and following people with nothing but my eyes so they think I'm animatronic... until they try to get near me.
or finally D. Creepy laughing


Let me know what you think! Pictures on the way soon!

The Bull

Writing has always been a cathartic experience for me. My issue is simply that I have never attempted it in a public forum. I always used to have journals and notebooks full to bursting with angst-driven, slightly pathetic attempts at poetry and short stories... so this venue is a little different for me. Please forgive infrequent posting. Also, I hope you enjoy the new layout.

Today I thought I would share a bedtime story that was a favorite of my grandmother's. Most children went to sleep listening to such classics as "Little Red Riding Hood" or "The Three Little Pigs".

Not this child.

My grandmother is a very kind, very southern woman. She is also extremely religious, so most of her stories have a very deep, religious or southern backing. The moral of the following story is pretty clear. Bulls will murder you. I can see no other meaning. At any rate, let's get right into it.

The Bull

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who would never listen to the warnings of her parents. They would constantly warn her to stay away from the neighboring yard, because its owner was a large, mean bull, yet she refused to heed their advice. 

One day, the little girl was throwing her ball, and it rolled across the creek dividing the two pieces of property. Without even thinking, the foolish girl skipped across the creek bed and lingered in the yard of the bull to play. After a few minutes of play, the bull emerged from his home, and confronted her.

He threatened to kill her with his sharp horns if she did not listen to him. He had seen her on his property many times, and upon seeing her this day, had had enough. He told her that she would be his slave until she learned her lesson about listening to those who knew much better than she. Terrified, the little girl reluctantly walked into the Bull's massive home.

There was no way out. The little girl knew that if she did not do exactly as she was told, she would surely die. The Bull told her that she would clean his  home, wait on him hand and hoof, and under no circumstance enter the room with the red door. The little girl was too afraid to object, and went about with her duties as she was instructed.

After years in slavery to the Bull, the little girl was very close to her freedom. She had gained his trust, so instead of chaining her up when he went to market, he left her free to wander the house and finish her duties. 

Although she was afraid, she was also too curious to pass up the allure of the room with the red door. She waited until the Bull was out of the house and well on his way to the market before venturing to the forbidden room and slowly turning the door knob to see what was inside.

Thanks, Grandma, now I really want to close my eyes.

Upon opening the door, a hand fell out onto her clean, crisp white sock. It was covered in blood. The room was full of the bodies of little girls that the Bull had impaled on his sharp, black horns. The door had been stained in their foolish blood, and now her sock followed suit. Terrified, the little girl stuffed the bodies of the fallen girls back into the room and slammed the door shut. Her hands were wet with blood, and she quickly rinsed them off, but the blood would not come out of her sock.

Frantic, the little girl looked for a way to remove the evidence of her betrayal. She soon came across a mouse which had accompanied her in her chores over the years. She begged for her small friend to use his rough tongue to lick the blood from her sock before the Bull arrived. He reluctantly agreed, and after several minutes of working at the spot, it began to fade. 

When the blood was almost clean, the little girl heard the front door creak open, and the thunderous clap of the Bull's hooves on the wooden floor. The mouse panicked, and quickly retreated to his home in the walls. The Bull saw that something was amiss, but could not quite figure out what was wrong. After checking to make sure the red door was still shut and that there was no blood on the little girl, the Bull conceded and let her go. She then lived happily ever after.

What nightmares are made of.

Of course, after this story, there was no sleep for me. My grandmother, however, went right to sleep with no apparent problems. But then again, why would I have had normal bedtimes stories?

Until next time, and as always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this look into my odd life.

The Horror

Although it may not look like it, I am actually a pretty brave individual. Until it comes to clowns. For some reason, the mere sight of a clown sends me into a panic stricken spiral into nightmare land.

Well, I say for some reason, but there is actually a very specific reason. A very sick, twisted, hilarious reason that happened when I was a very young child.

I have ALWAYS loved scary movies, even as a small child. So, it naturally followed that when my mother was watching "It" by Stephen King, I wanted to watch it. Although Stephen King is now my favorite author, a part of me will never forgive him for that movie.

Sick bastard.

Although now this movie isn't really scary at all, to a seven year old little girl it was fairly terrifying. After all, this absolutely awful looking clown does eat kids.

At any rate, I was afraid. My mother was unsympathetic, and simply said "I told you so" and sent me to bed after I kept whining to sleep with her. Apparently, whining infuriates my mother, and after sitting around for a while, decided to seek our  her revenge.

I awoke to a small clown doll at the foot of my bed which I had, previous to tonight of course, been very fond of. It had cymbals in its hands and played circus music while it moved back and forth. Of course, I was completely and utterly terrified, as I had hid this monstrosity on my closet before I attempted to sleep.

I immediately jumped out of bed to run to mommy, and as soon as my feet hit the floor, I felt hands wrapped around my ankles.

So this is how it ends...

After screaming and trying to fight my way out of my attackers grip, I heard laughing. At first I was terrified. I though "Good sweet Lord this thing is going to laugh while it eats me..."

Then I recognized the laughter. It was my dear, sick, twisted mother.

Needless to say, I haven't been a fan of clowns since. Which is why at the ripe age of 20, and in my second haunted house ever, I almost killed someone.

My (now ex, obviously) boyfriend and I went to the bustling town of Branson, MO for a small getaway, and as it was his birthday trip, I agreed to walk through a haunted house with him. I'm not OK with haunted houses on a good day, so I was pretty upset. After specifically asking for NO live actors, we went inside. Little did I know, he had gone back to the front desk and begged for every live actor they had.

After entering and walking about 100 feet in this huge haunted house, I heard banging behind us. I turned around to see a mental institution patient running at me. All I could do was scream "I said NO!!!" like a resistant sorority girl and run. After catching his breath after laughing, Chris caught up with me and tried to calm me down. That wasn't going to happen.

I proceeded to have a panic attack, stuck inside a maze of horror with a man that couldn't stop laughing to save me. After fighting through the first three quarters of that horrible place, I saw a sign that stopped me in my tracks. "You are now entering the hallway of clowns."

AAAAAWWWWW YEEEEEEAAAA

That's right. A full, terrifying hallway of clowns. Terrifying life-size clowns. And, after genius decided he wanted live actors, some of those clowns moved. In a very small hallway. Towards a terrified, pissed off woman.

All I could think to do is yell "IF ANY OF YOU JUMP AT ME I WILL PUNCH YOU, I SWEAR TO GOD" and run. Full out run out of the haunted house. I heard more than one person laughing hysterically behind me, and I'm pretty sure a few clowns broke character.

Needless to say, 'ol Chris and I didn't work out. Anyone who would subject me to murderous painted faces obviously deserves none of my affection.

Until next time, thanks for reading.

Grace

As you've probably noticed, the name of this ol' blog contains the word Grace. This happens to be my middle name (surprise!) and as painfully ironic as this is, sometimes it allows a bit of humor to an otherwise painful situation.

I am currently in college, and today whilst walking up the stairs I fell. Up the stairs. How I did this, I will probably never know, but I somehow managed to trip over absolutely nothing, fall up about three steps, then come sliding back down to where I was originally standing. I was almost tempted to just lay there (it was actually fairly painful), but I jumped up and said "Never gonna keep me down" and took off to my class.

Why that was my wording choice, I have no idea. All I know is that when I looked behind me at the stairs, a small group of spectators were either staring at the ground (I assume trying to figure out what the hell I tripped over) or staring at me with a horrified/sympathetic "how do you breathe on your own" expression.

Way to start off my day.

Although this was one of the worse experiences, it is definitely not the first, and I'm positive it will not be the last.


When I was in high school, I was a bit of a hippie. I loved wearing long, flowing skirts and flip flops to class. Unfortunately, if a fellow student snags the back of your flowing skirt, there isn't very much there to keep it from falling to your ankles.

Not a very pleasant experience.

The only thing I could think to say after this happened to me in a crowded stairwell was "At least I wasn't wearing a thong!" I then pulled up my skirt and fled.

Maybe I'm just not meant for stairwells.

Once while in the hospital for my step-father's life saving surgery, my grandmother and I decided to walk downstairs for some fresh air since we had been stuck in the depressing, stuffy waiting room for hours. While walking down the stairs, my grandmother slipped on a wet patch, started falling down the stairs and grabbed my leg. I fell with her until we reached a slight plateau where I grabbed the handrail and my grandmother to keep from falling another story.

And that's how my mother ended up having her three closest family members as patients in the same hospital.

I told my mother once that I thought my middle name was a cruel joke, as I'm probably the LEAST graceful person on the planet.

I guess I was just intended to be a walking example of irony. Or more accurately, a falling example.


As always, thanks for reading.

Vacation

Vacation is a time where most are able to relax, unwind and forget about the woes of their day-to-day lives. For me, this has never been a possibility, as my horribly hilarious luck tends to follow me wherever I go.

The events in this story are no different.

This all took place when I was at the ripe age of fourteen. I was with my mother, my step-father and one of my (at the time) best friends, Tonia. We were visiting Eureka Springs, which is a small Arkansan town filled with small, quaint shops, a haunted hotel and a few novelty stores. After shopping for a while, we decided to check out one novelty store in particular: Judge Roy Bean's.

Judge Roy Bean's is a photography studio where families or friends can dress in costumes and take pictures against interesting sets. The photos end up looking vintage and (usually) pretty hilarious. For our picture, the photographer decided I would make a good prostitute, dressed me as such, and stuck me on the bar. My friend Tonia was in a more modest dress, and looked like she could have been my mother.

After placing my on the bar with a skimpy dress, heels, fishnet hose, a gun in one hand and an empty bottle of Jack in the other, the photographer proceeded to position my feet for the sluttiest photograph possible. Unfortunately, as Murphy's Law has and will always rule my life, she pushed just a little too hard.

I fell right behind the bar on to a giant iron sculpture. Why the hell a huge, heavy, painful wrought iron monstrosity was behind the fake bar of a southern scene, I guess I'll never know. At any rate, it banged me up pretty good. In one hand I still had a fake gun. In the other, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. My floppy hat covered my face and my dress covered my shame. After I finally recovered, I asked how many other times that had happened.

Apparently, I was the only one. Of course.

After recovering from my fall and collecting our picture, I ran to the nearest public restroom. Eureka is a old, small town, and pretty low on public restrooms so I had to settle for a giant, hot line of toilets just inside an open doorway on the street. Without looking, I sat down. And on to the waiting stinger of a fat bumble bee.

I'm sure you don't know this, but I have a horrible phobia of bees. They are what my nightmares are made of, so this was quite the horrific experience. I walked out of the restroom, white as a ghost with sweat on my upper lip. My mother asked what was wrong, and after I told her I had literally sat right on my worst nightmare, she couldn't control her laughter.

Lovely.

Just as I was recovering and talking with my parents, fate decided to add insult to injury. Also, she decided to add a little more injury as well. I got a little too into my conversation with Tonia, and with no warning whatsoever from my family, I walked straight into a pole and almost knocked myself out. Perfect ending to a perfect day.

I don't know exactly where the original photo I'm referencing has run off to, but I will continue to search for it, and when I find it, it will be here! I also ended up going back to this establishment with my (now ex) boyfriend. They recognized me, and after making a few jokes were extremely careful in my foot placement on the bar.

As always, thank you for reading.

Creepy Crawlies

Although I try to keep the majority of the things I write light and humorous, I've discovered that this blog is actually quite cathartic. So, I decided to get a little more serious and tell a story that probably won't register as too funny, but is still worth reading. Before I get into anything too serious, however, I would like to say this is what I want for my birthday:Isn't it glorious? I don't know if I want to sit in it or just snuggle...

Wow.

Now down to some seriousness. I've decided that this blog will be a bit of a canvas for life stories, a mini history of myself. Of course, like anyone else, all of my life stories aren't funny or pleasant, this being one of them.

The following story is from when I was nine years old. My mother and I were living with my Uncle Larry in Russellville Arkansas in a very small, very run down trailer down the street from my grandparents. The water heater was hanging out of the side of the trailer, and every once-in-a-while warranted a rough push back into the lining of the house. We could live with the fact that it wasn't the nicest home in the world, it was fairly temporary. I could also live with the blood stain still on my carpet from where my previous pet cat had murdered and eaten my poor guinea pig fluffy. What we had a hard time handling were the insects.

The first encounter with an unwanted housemate was discovered by my uncle Larry. I returned from school one day to find a jar with a scorpion on the kitchen counter, and a note that said "Look what I found in the living room!" As a fairly normal 9 year old girl, I had visions of this creature let loose in my home, and ending up below my unsuspecting foot.

I didn't even know Arkansas had scorpions.

A few weeks later, Larry (poor guy) was walking out of the bathroom, and a rather large centipede fell from nowhere directly on to his head. He screamed louder and in a higher octave than I thought possible for a fully grown man. Then again, I would have too.

Shortly after that Larry (once again) walked outside of our front door, and was promptly greeted with a giant nest of granddaddy longlegs to the head. Although I'm usually not frightened by insects, there's something about the image of thousands of tiny, spindly spiders crawling all over someone's face that stuck with me.

Although most of this did, in fact, happen to poor Uncle Larry, my room was a topic of interest for local insects as well. Except for mine were all giant, disgusting wolf spiders. If you've never seen a wolf spider, here is a picture for reference:

Good God.

In the floor of my closet was a giant, gaping hole through which one could view the outside world. Unfortunately, this was basically an open invitation for giant, terrifying spiders during the cold winter months. On one particular incident, my mother had suggested we make a pallet on the floor of our living room as a type of slumber party. Although this seemed like a fantastic idea at the time, issues my mother was facing led to her passed out on our pallet which consisted of my entire mattress and no place for me to sleep. Not to mention she is an extremely violent snorer.

I walked back to my room which was rather cold at this point and picked up my pillow on the box spring to try to curl up and fall asleep. Underneath my pillow was a gigantic, hairy wolf spider just waiting for me to fall asleep. It ran off of my bed, and was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the night. Terrified, cold and lonely, I eventually fell asleep curled up in a ball on my box spring, covered with a towel as a blanket. Needless to say, not so great a night.

Ever since then, I always check my bed before I go to sleep. Just to make sure, I guess, that I don't have any unwelcome bedmates. Surprisingly enough, though, I'm not the least bit afraid of spiders. I guess going to sleep with absolute certainty that my room was full had something to do with it.

Until next time, thanks for reading.