Hush, hush, don't tell me tell me ‘cause it hurts.

The other day at work this girl was talking about the first time she got her heart broken. Apparently a boy who worked at her local McDonalds stole her heart and ran off with the girl who made the fries. Apparently she was displeased with that. This made me think about the first time said heart breaking happened to me and how overly dramatic I was.

Let’s go way back in the day. I am 15-years-old and just started High School. The girls and I thought we were adult women just starting out in the world. This High School thing was only a formality since we were brilliant and ready to take on anything! We wore a shit-ton of lipstick and lip liner (gross!). My girl Monica has most of the blackmail photos which I pray never see the light of day again. This was a sad time in our fashion history.

Being the first week of school we were obviously scoping out the boys. We were outside on lunch one day chatting it up and my friend Brandy said to me “OK, so you have got to pick a boy. Everyone else has. Which one do you like?” Feeling put on the spot and not particularly interested in any of them as of yet, I scanned the scenery. Saw a decent enough fella. And I pointed at him saying “uh, that one… I guess.” Much to her delight this was her cousin (by marriage or something I don’t remember the details). So she quickly introduced us.

I don’t remember how it happened exactly, but we were pretty much an item from that point on. He and I spent every day after school together. He walked me to my classes each day with a PDA at the drop off. How lame and embarrassing is that? Eww! He was pretty much my first grown up kiss too and he later told me I sucked at kissing and gave me a complex. I still worry that my kisses are lame, although I really don’t care as much in my old age.

Everything was delight, sunshine, pop music, and happiness. I had a boyfriend and I liked him, he was cool! We went to the Homecoming and Sadie Hawkins dances together. Neither of us was old enough to drive yet. Teenage life was good. This was until one Thursday afternoon. My friend who introduced us decides to have a little talk with me on our walk home from school.


Brandy: So when do you plan to ‘you know’ with C?

Me: 'You know' what?

Brandy: You know, DO IT. With him.

Me (taken aback): Ohhhh. Uh, never. I don’t ever plan to do that with him. We’re kids dude. Maybe if we stay together and grow up and stuff. Maybe…then. Maybe.

Brandy: OK cool. Yeah, I totally respect that.


And the very next day I was gently dumped. Apparently Brandy was on a mission to gather some info for my bf C. I had been ambushed. Blindsided. Things just weren’t “working out” anymore he said. We could “still be friends” he said. B freakin S. Whateves.

Boom. My happy little fairy tale life (aka like 6-weeks of time we dated) crushed by the dark cloud of evil boy meanness. I spent that night at my bestie Monica’s house. I cried until I was dehydrated. I cried to her, to our other best friend Dawn, and also to Monica’s older brother Phil (who may have quite possibly been drunk that whole time. We suspected it). I cried Nancy Kerrigan-style “Why?!? Whyyyyy?!!!? Why?!?” for hours. That night we slept on the trampoline even though it was late fall and freezing. I think we woke to frost on our blankets, seriously! My best friends were amazing. They didn’t even mock me and I totally deserved some mocking that day. Then we walked to Media Play and bought some CDs and ate candy. And life went on.

A few weeks later first ex-boyfriend was dating J, a girl with pretty blond curls that wore a lot of bright red lipstick and was known for being “friendly”. They lasted 2-weeks together. And she did, ‘you know’ with him from what I heard and they still didn’t even last as long as he and I did. Bullet dodged - one point for me!

If I could go back and give teenage me a word of advice it would be: Don’t ever take it personal and just let the boys go chase themselves. So anyone else wanna share their tale of their first heartbreak? Eh? Eh?



I'm including this song because we all danced a lot after school at Monica's house. That ex brought this song around. He came from California where everyone liked to dance a lot. Just because it was hip I suppose.

You're On Your Own My Little Nightmare...

Quirks, superstitions, habits, OCD-like behaviors - we all have them. At least, I’d assume most people do have some variation. We’re human. Things get to us. Well, unless you’re a sociopath and if that is the case then you’ve got bigger fish to fry.

So today for the entertainment of my mass following I am going to share a few of the weird ass things I think/do and things that creep me out. And well, I randomly feel like writing a list. ‘Cause, ya know, you totally need more reasons to think that I am a bit of a nutcase, right?

1) Things that suddenly “change status” – I get mildly anxious with things that change, even though completely expected and planned that way, quickly. I don’t like lighting matches, starting lawnmowers, or opening those tubes of rolls. I just don’t like it, it gets under my skin. Doesn’t this sound like the kind of phobia a dog would have? Now obviously, I have to deal with stuff like this normally to not be a total freak show. Just remember me when you’re opening your next can of cinnamon rolls and it “pops”. And relish in the humor that I’d have to take a deep breath before doing that same thing.





2) I brush my teeth, a lot. I carry my supplies with me and I even brush at work. I’m a frickin’ brush-o’-holic. I can’t relax with dirty teeth. It drives me nuts. I have brushed in my car with a water bottle. Classy! Kind of grossy gross, eh? AND, yet even with all of that brushing (and flossing mind you) I still had to go to the dentist this year for a root-MFing-canal. So lame and totally unfair.

3) Needles, oh my gosh horror, cry, just-shoot-me-instead, needles. I have an irrational fear of needles, shots, and things of the like. I have no idea how on earth I had two babies with the frequent blood work that baby-having and going to a modern day doctor requires. How I got this quarter-sleeve sized tattoo of a phoenix on my arm? Who knows?! Maybe I was roofied (Marta?!). As soon as the subject of needles even comes up I start to get nervousy. It is REE-diculous. My work gives out free flu shots every year. This past winter I spent the first half of my workday plotting out how not to be available to receive my flu shot even though I really wanted one since my fam was getting theirs. I didn’t want to die of the swiney flu while everyone else lived just because I wussed out on my flu shot. Well, mercifully one of my peers (who happens to be just a year shy of my dad’s age) went to get his shot at a certain time and so I tagged along. In the end I felt like I could go through with it because I was “with a grown-up” and that I’d be OK. Yeah, I just typed up and admitted that story. Yep.

4) When I am driving in the car I need the volume to stay on an odd number. I just do. Even numbers make me nervous. It feels wrong and like if I drive and listen to music on an even number it must mean certain death. Death, bitches. Bad luck. If someone adjusts the volume. I move it up or down a notch to keep it on an odd number. People probably think I am a jerko in the car when I do that right after they turn it up or down. I can’t help it.

I also have issues with Spiders, Heights, and Germs – oh my! MRSA, scary crap right there, you don’t want to get me started. I also cannot relax and enjoy a day off until I get our house clean. But, hey, you get the big picture that I am slightly neurotic to say the least. Apparently, according to my significant other, I am no more OCD than the next person, but who knows? Anyways, the moral of this story is hey, we all have weird stuff that affects our world. Basically we are all a bunch of weirdos yo. Isn’t it interesting?.

No matter what they say, I am still the king…

Fiction is the truth inside the lie. - Stephen King

Stephen King, my hero.


This is the one person I have wanted so much to meet for my entire life. I am the child who carried Stephen King novels proudly through my elementary school as my strict religious teachers (hey, this is Utah) gasped in horror at the content in which I was allowed to read. “Oh yes this is my book, and my parents bought it for me. Suckas!”

I grew up wanting to become a writer. I still want to be a writer when I “grow up”. My goal was always solidly to become an English teacher as a route to eventually working my way into a life as a novelist. I was going to write some scary ass shit. And, dammit, I am determined eventually I will do so.

I read my first Stephen King book in the 3rd grade. I started it up at a read-a-thon at school. I had my Care Bears sleeping bag, my purple pillow, and my first copy of ‘Pet Sematary’ which at that time was just about to come out as a movie I believe. And since then well, I’ve read so many of his books I cannot count. Now, I can’t say I have read them all, but I would say I’ve read far more than the average reader/fan. O to the C to the D a little maybe. Ha!

Stephen King’s influence is so much of what built my desire to become a writer. This is still so much of who I am today. He inspired the piece of me that is constantly thinking about the written word. Also the part of me that writes quick one liners and saves novel ideas at work because there is just no time to do it now, so I have to save that seed for later. One of his works that completely fueled this in me is his 1999 autobiography/guide to writing titled “On Writing”. I’ve read this book at least 15-times. I think I need to go home and pick up my waterlogged copy and read it again this week. Because that book brings out the part of me that belongs only to me, the part without the mommy and manager responsibilities. The piece of me that didn’t know that you could make a lot more money managing call centers than teaching English in schools. The part of me that wasn’t tainted by reality… and still isn’t.

If you’re ever interested here is a list of a few of my favorites:

Pet Sematary
Carrie
Cujo
The Shining
Different Seasons – Rita Hayworth & Shawshank Redemption (yeah, he wrote that badboy)
Christine
Firestarter
Misery
The Green Mile
Desperation
Dolores Claiborne
Hearts in Atlantis
The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon
On Writing
Dreamcatcher
Cell

For All The Ghosts That Are Never Gonna Catch Me…

Paranormal activity. Entertainment (aka BS) or unsolved mysteries yo? Now, if you start asking around everyone has a few random inexplicable ghostie stories, or stories of the stories of other peeps. Hence the popularity of today’s ghost hunters and celeb ghost encounter TV shows.

Well, since I pretty much always have something better I should be doing, I am not going to do that important stuff, instead I am going to share my own paranormal experiences with you. I mean, because like I said, we all love us a good ghost story.





First creeptastic, and most emotionally damaging, story: I was 10-years-old. My cousin was living with us at the moment due to being a total brat to her own mother. She is completely paying for this in kid-karma today, but that is neither here nor there. This cousin was also our babysitter at the time. A dominating and controlling tell us what to do or lock-you-in-a-room-all-day kind of sitter she was. Now, today, I love my cousin so much and she has 3 daughters (now teens) of her own, but back in the day she was needless to say (emotionally) scary. Well, one day she decided it would be cool to bring home an Ouija Board. Then daily force me (via threat of violence/time in the hole) to play said Ouija Board with her. Which thoroughly freakedmethefuckout , but what could I do? Anyway, nothing particularly eventful came out of our sessions of speaking with the dead. She kept trying to reach our grandmother who had very recently passed away in some unfortunate circumstances. I can’t really remember who else she tried to talk to, but whateves. So I bet you’re waiting for the “scary” part, right? Well, each night that week-of-the-Ouija I apparently (from what my mother would tell me) was having serious night terrors. We’re talking inconsolable not-able-to-wake-me-up fits! The kind of stuff that was scaring the crap out of my whole family. And then, the next morning, zero memory of these events. Am-frickin-nesia. "Sorry, to hear about that suckers. I feel like I slept great." Some serious Captain Howdy kind of shit, right there yo. Well, after like the 4th day of my mom complaining about my terrorizing the family in my sleep I decided that I was sick and tired of this Ouija Board afternoon date with my cousin and told her to "back off beotch". And although I ended up spending the rest of that day locked in my bedroom drawing a mural of Synergy from 'Jem and The Holograms' on the back of my dresser, I no longer was victim of the devil board. And from that night on, no more midnight freakfest. Completely gone, no more problems ever again for the rest of my life. Subconscious response to my personal fear or some scary ass devil shit? You decide.





Scary Story Numero Dos: For about a year Joey and I lived in this 4-plex when my oldest was almost age 2. Our neighbors were all fellow teens or early 20-somethings and it was pretty chill. No one telling us what to do. Only one other young kid, maybe 5, lived in our building. It was a cool place, kind of in a not-so-nice area, but we had a private driveway and parking so no big concerns. Well, once I thought I saw a guy walking with a gun in his hand, but I was driving kind of fast (imagine that) so it could have been a cell phone. I don’t know. Anyway, sorry about the tangent, back to the story. So one night I am woken up 3 TIMES by the sound of a baby just bawling its eyes out. Now, I was one of those mothers that let their kid sleep in the bed with them (don’t judge me, life was easier that way, OK?) so I could see it wasn’t my Sookie Pookie throwing a bitch fit in the middle of the night. When I went to the bathroom it stopped. “Lame ass noisy baby” I thought to myself. The next morning I was taking my dog Tito out for his morning whiz when the neighbor stopped to chat me up. She started talking about one of our neighbors being a little noisy so I asked her if she heard the baby the night before. She didn’t. While we were talking the other neighbor girl happened to be walking to her car and eavesdropping said she didn’t think anyone had a baby visiting that weekend so she didn’t know whose brat would have woken me up all night. Note - I had asked Joey and he didn’t ever hear any baby himself. Oh well, whatever, annoying baby issue didn’t matter much anyway. So I went back in the house and started my Saturday routine. When I went to vacuum my kid asked me to go get his toy vacuum so he could “help”. I told him it was right by the door in his room to go and get it himself since mommy was busy. He stopped and said “I don’t want to Mommy. I’m scared of the baby in my room”. CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CH! (<-- sound from the Jason Movies. FYI.) So, killer baby ghost in Sookie’s room at that place? Or some random baby crying we both heard and my kid being dramatic? IDK. Nobody will ever know (or care, but still).





Third, and lastly, my final brush with the spooksters: From the ages of 17-20 I worked as a CNA at an Assisted Living facility. Now, I know as glamorous as it sounds I did actually enjoy doing it. I mean, do you know how hot you can look in scrubs? Oh yeah! Anyway, I worked the 6pm-6am schedule to avoid needing a babysitter during the day since ya know, I’d already given up my youth for the exciting world o’parenting. Go me! Well, one summer Evelyn H. (one of my favorite patients) had a stroke in the middle of the night and it was on my watch. I was the first one to respond to her room when she called for help. When I knelt down beside her bed to figure out what was wrong I swore out of the corner of my eye I saw her husband Arnie (his name was really Arnold, but this is what she called him in her thick New York accent) in the bathroom! It was so striking I gasped out loud like when someone scares you. BUT, there was no one in the bathroom. It was empty. Arnie had passed away 6-months earlier. Uh, hello! However, I had been the one to come in the room every night to walk him to the bathroom, to prevent falls, and had done so hundreds of times before he had passed away. It could have easily been my photographic memory. So after the ambulance had come to take Evelyn away to the hospital I was talking with another CNA. I just couldn’t shake that scared feeling. I told her that I was pretty sure that Evelyn was going to die because I was pretty sure for a split second I saw Arnie in the bathroom. She laughed at me and told me to chill out. Evelyn died the next day. Arnie H. coming to pick up his wife to go “home”? Or a sleep deprived girl having a momentary flash back in her brain? *Shrugs shoulders.*





Now, I have to tell you I still don’t know if I have any belief in ghosts. I have a hard time with belief in things that are unproven to the point where I have spent a lot of my adulthood struggling with where I stand on religion and things of the like even. It’s hard for my brain to fully accept things I cannot see here in black and white. But I guess like everyone else, I do have my little “ghost stories” here to share. How about you?



Oh and well, since all of my blog titles are song lyrics or song titles I just had to throw one in. So here is the song that has been stuck in my head since I started writing this bad boy. Thanks Gerard.