Archive | Underrated, if you ask me RSS feed for this section

A Girl and Her Dog (the Walking Mishap gets a dog…)

27 Jul

*Note: This post has been in the works for ages, and I’ve been slow to get it posted, but my little dude deserves his due. He’s currently curled up next to me, snoozing the day away… spoiled little bastard that he is.

Since the day I moved home from college and into my own apartment, there has been nothing I’ve wanted more than a dog. My own little canine companion, one that would wag his or her tail at me enthusiastically when I get home from work, cheer me up when I was feeling down, and basically be my furry friend. Apartment after apartment, however, pets were not allowed. My family constantly advised me against adopting an animal (mainly because for quite some time, I was rarely ever home), and for a while, the outlook on getting a dog was grim. Upon moving back out of my parents’ place last September, I refocused on adopting a canine companion.

My landlord at the time was dead-set against the idea at first; she had plans to eventually sell the house I was living in, and didn’t want it to smell like dog. The tenant in the upstairs apartment had a dog, so I figured there was hope. After working through the holiday season and stalking petfinder.com and delcospca.org like it was my job, I found a listing for a little guy named Elmer. He was different than the larger bully breeds I had been looking at (I had fallen in love with a deaf American Bulldog the SPCA had listed, but they required he go to a home with a fenced in yard, which I did not have). Weighing in at only 9 lbs, this little guy was listed on the website as a poodle/terrier mix. He had been found as a stray, and came into the shelter in pretty bad shape. He was so horribly matted they had to shave him bare, and he had infections in his ears and eyes.

I immediately called my mom, after shooting her an email with the link to his Petfinder page. She agreed that he might be a good choice… if only I could get permission from my landlord. Early the next morning, I called her up, and laid the situation out for her. He was a tiny little guy that wouldn’t shed (poodles don’t shed) and his online listing said it seemed as though he was housebroken. After some persuasion and hemming and hawing, she agreed to let me have him. One of my favorite people in the world had arrived at my house by this time, watching me make frantic and excited calls to the shelter. As it turned out, the shelter was frantic to find either a foster or permanent home for little Elmer, and I needed to get in there ASAP if I wanted to make him mine.

We piled in the car, and took off to the SPCA. After filling out some paperwork and getting instructions, he was mine!! I had a dog. An old, scared, fully shaved tiny little dude.

Headed home from the SPCA, snug in his new bed.

I decided before even getting to the SPCA that I was going to be renaming this adorable little creature. Elmer didn’t suit him, but I was at a loss. I called him Little Dude for roughly his first 8 hours with me. After much deliberation, I settled on Dexter – yes, I’m an obnoxious fan girl. I’ve read the books and watch the series, but Dexter just fits. As his fur grew in, I learned Dex is a Maltipoo – a Maltese/Poodle mix. He is the sweetest, most loving pup I ever could have chosen. He’s now happy and mostly healthy (he has occasional seizures that scare the everloving shit out of me), and is just an absolute joy.

Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled.

Since adopting my little old man, I’ve become a better person. I really, truly believe being a dog owner initiates you into some sort of secret club. Adopting Dex has made me more selfless, and has taught me what it’s like to have to care for someone other than just myself. Owning a dog makes you friendlier when you’re out in public – you stop and say hello to other dog owners while you’re out. You meet people at the dog park (or in the case of my most recent vacation, the dog beach). You find yourself wanting to volunteer or donate to help other animals, because it’s simply not possible to adopt them all. Dex has made me more patient, as caring for a Senior dog takes more care and attention sometimes. He has shown me what absolute, unconditional love is… I’m talking the kind that I’m not even sure humans are capable of feeling.

He’s a strange little guy, this one. In the old apartment, he used to drag his bed around the house for the sole purpose of humping it. He chews his feet and licks the air – both habits are inexplicable, according to the vet. He zips around the house like crazy, right before promptly passing out in my lap. He hates having his feet played with, even though he spends most of his days messing with them himself. He’s got these funny little duck-feet, which have earned him the nickname Scuba Steve from my friends. I really can’t say too much more about this little guy and what he’s done for me – so I’ll leave you with some pictures you can go “AWWWWWWW” over.

Silly Boy.

Dapper after a haircut

Yes, he has a lifejacket.

Happy Boy.

Tags:

Morning Musings…

21 Jul

First of all, I’m 4 views away from 6k page views here. Holy shit, is all I have to say. Considering the fact that I’m less than consistent with making sure I update even on a semi-regular basis, that’s more than I expected. I KNOW, I KNOW. I’ve promised this more than once… I really need to get on it – no excuses. This little project here of mine has evolved from my original vision, as I had planned to simply highlight the more ridiculous things I encounter on a daily basis. I’m kind of okay with that. It’s become my sounding board -  a place where I can share my thoughts in more than 140 character-long bursts. As it stands now, I’m sitting on the front porch of the family shore house, having just finished my first cup of coffee. I’ve got the dog in my lap, and I’m giving The Gaslight Anthem’s new album, Handwritten, a listen here. I’m kind of just writing whatever comes to mind – I sometimes think I don’t do that often enough.

Barnegat Light

Having spent this week on Long Beach Island, I’ve come to the conclusion this is one of those rare places I can truly relax. My insomnia miraculously melts away, I’m well-rested, and it feels like I have nothing in the world to worry about. I spend most of my days barefoot and in a bathing suit, hair thrown back in a messy bun and a face free of make up. The family house isn’t much – it’s over 100 years old, and lack “modern comforts” such as central air, cable TV, and internet (I’m currently using my phone as a hotspot) and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This house is where I learned how to play gin rummy, and have spent hours delving into book after book. The couch I’m sitting on has seen better days, in spite of its brand new slip-cover, and it’s still one of my favorite places to nap. I may not live here, but in a sense, this three bedroom house that will eventually be torn down when it’s sold is home. The beach up the street is where I learned to body surf, where I have dug my toes into the sand and where I have sat in quiet contemplation. It pains me to have to leave tomorrow, allowing for a different set of relatives to spend their week here. All of us – my parents, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc. love this place – and I think we all love it for the some of the same reasons, and even many different ones.

I find that when I’m here, I’m easily inspired (I really do hate that word, I kind of feel as though it’s a bit trite) to get back to being creative. Whether it be writing, finding some form of other art I don’t completely suck at, or wanting to pick up my cameras again, I get motivated to create. This week, it’s been the bug to get back into writing – writing well, and writing regularly. I’m questioning why I ever stopped pursuing journalism as a career choice… did I really let one shitty professor in community college dissuade me from something I’m actually pretty good at? Something I’ve had a lifelong interest in? Sometimes my impulsive decisions really do bite me in the ass. Then again, who’s to say that’s not the path I was supposed to go down? I’m not going to wax philosophical on what could have been… I think I’m just a little bitter about the fact that I’ve got a degree I’m not using, in a field I kind of picked on a whim. Meh. Irrelevant, I suppose, since I’ve got a job that pays me well and keeps the bills paid and keeps food in my mouth. There’s something in the sea air that gets me all introspective and contemplative about life. Weird, right?

I really want to do some collaborative writing sometime soon… maybe start a second site with some other bloggers, kind of just a hodge podge mish mash of different styles and ideas. Anyone interested?

xoxo

Tags: , , , ,

PSA- SAVE UPPER DARBY MUSIC AND ARTS

16 Apr

I’m taking a break from the normal shenanigans around here to address something I feel very passionately about. As a child, pre-teen, and teen, I was very heavily involved in the music program in Upper Darby School District. This very program is now at risk of being cut. Here is my letter to the School Board and District Administration.

Dear Administrators and Members of the Board,
I am an alumna of Garrettford Elementary School, Drexel Hill Middle School, and Upper Darby High School. I am a product of the Upper Darby School District Music Program.  From the time I entered the district in first grade, until the day I graduated from Upper Darby High School, the related arts classes, and more specifically, the music program played an integral role in my education, my personal development, and helped shaped me into who I am today. I am heartbroken to hear that, in the face of a budgeting crisis, your first line of defense and financial recovery is to cut the related arts from our elementary schools.
During my time as a student within Upper Darby School District, I was a proud member of Garrettford’s Fifth Grade Chorus, DHMS’s chorus, Concert Singers, Girls’ Ensemble, and Marching Band, and Upper Darby High School’s Chorus and Concert Choir. As a student who was not athletically inclined, and who was cut from the middle school field hockey team, these groups taught me what it meant to be part of a team. The teachers I encountered during my time in these groups inspired me to be better, to do better, both on stage and as an individual. To Mrs. Pennington, Mr. Pulacik, Mr. Turbedsky, Mr. Rider, Mrs. Schneider-Salhi, and Mrs. Benglian, I say thank you. Thank you for opening doors to me as a student I wouldn’t have known existed without you. Thank you for providing me with a place that I fit in.
As you discuss and debate the merits of keeping or cutting our music program, please consider that the building in which you are holding your board meetings, the Upper Darby Performing Arts Center, was my second home for four years of my life. It was the second home of friends that I considered family, and still do. On the second floor of that building is a room with rows of red chairs sitting on risers, with a piano in the center of it. To many of you, it is just a room. To myself and to so many others, we still consider that room a part of our home. In that room, under the direction of Mrs. Barbara Benglian, we became one voice.
Whether it was choir class, a last minute rehearsal, an actual performance, or a national competition, Mrs. Benglian demanded we give our best. Friends of mine that went to other local high schools joined the chorus because it was an easy “A.” Students at Upper Darby knew better, and joined the music programs because we wanted to be the best. During my time in Concert Choir, we continuously earned the title of Grand Champions at competitions. Our soloists won awards, as did the Encore Singers. Because of the high standard Mrs. Benglian held us to, we held ourselves to the same high standard. It is that high standard that I continue to hold myself to, in everything that I do.
Not only were we held to this high standard musically, but we were also held to an academic standard. Had it not been for that standard, my grades probably would not have been what they were. My main motivation, skewed as it may have been, was to make sure that I stayed academically eligible to perform. My grades that were not the only thing the music program helped me maintain. Without my second home, without Chorus and Concert Choir, I would not have built the confidence I did within those groups. I would not have built the friendships or lasting memories, either. Without the musical foundation built by my elementary and middle school teachers, I do not think I’d have been so strongly committed to the music program as a high-schooler. For so many of us, the Upper Darby Performing Arts Center was our home away from home, and it was where we began to learn who we would be as adults. It kept us off the streets and out of trouble, and more importantly, it gave us something to be proud of.
As a concerned alumna, I implore to you afford current and future students the same opportunities I was given as a student of Upper Darby School District. Allow them to experience greatness, because it is what they deserve.
Thank you,

Danielle
Upper Darby High School, Class of 2003

I cannot begin to describe the level of discipline and excellence that was instilled in me through being involved in this music program. I cannot begin to list the memories, the lessons I learned, or the relationships I forged during my time as a member of this organization. This program saved me, in all honesty. Middle school was an awful time for me – my friends from elementary school had become “too cool” by the time we hit sixth grade – their parents allowed them to dress like baby whores and loiter in convenience store parking lots and mine didn’t.  I was cruelly teased by girls that had once been my best friends and confidants. Upon joining the chorus and later auditioning and being accepted into Concert Singers and Girls’ Ensemble at the middle school level, I found a second home.  I made new friends, ones who didn’t have futures as teen moms and criminals, and I learned about myself. I learned what it was to be a part of something so much bigger than myself.  I gained confidence. I gained a voice. In high school, I think it’s possible I spent more time at the Upper Darby Performing Arts Center than I did my own home . My parents supported and encouraged my involvement, coming to every performance we had to offer. 

If you are from the greater Philadelphia area, and even if you aren’t, PLEASE check out saveudarts.org <— This site has all the information needed to help myself, countless alumni, current students, and district parents take action, and make sure the very voice I was given by this program is heard.

I STAND WITH UPPER DARBY SCHOOL DISTRICT, THEIR RELATED ARTS AND MUSIC FACULTY, ALUMNI AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, CURRENT AND FUTURE STUDENTS WHO DESERVE TO EXPERIENCE AND BE A PART OF EXCELLENCE, JUST AS I WAS.

It’s About to Get Girly as Fuck in Here.

23 Feb

I think I’ve admitted this before… I’m a closet girly-girl. And I don’t really care what people think of that.

Give me eye shadows in a multitude of colors, give me a mani/pedi with a hot-stone calf massage, give me a day of having my hair cut/colored/conditioned. Give me an unlimited budget to create an entirely new wardrobe (after I drop the 30lbs I’d like to get rid of, of course). Give me jewelry and pretty, shiny things,  give me pretty perfume bottles that smell like heaven and I’m in love. So many of my friends find this information shocking… they say it doesn’t seem to fit my personality, because I’m so straight to the point.

This whole girly-girl thing seems to get worse as I get older. My taste has become more refined, my interest in making sure I leave the house looking put together has grown exponentially since my high school and college days. The only thing standing in my way? My budget. I have wickedly expensive taste… for instance, my new cosmetic obsession? NARS. Their colors are beautiful, and their quality is top-notch.

I'll take three of each, please.

I’m really, really sad how expensive this stuff is. Twenty eight bucks for a blush. Good. Christ. I’m currently talking myself out of blowing my next commission check on their entire line…

I’m not really sure where this whole girly-girl thing comes from… I think I just like feeling pretty. Yes, that sounds shallow and vapid and insipid, but damnit, it’s true. I like getting all dolled up, and I like the compliments it brings. I believe a swipe of lipstick, a touch of mascara, and a spritz of perfume is sometimes all it takes to lift my mood. Ladies, don’t tell me not one of you agrees with me. There is something about LOOKING good that makes you FEEL good. If that weren’t the case, why would so many people be on a quest to lose weight, or get plastic surgery, or change their hair? Call me shallow, I don’t really care. I feel my best when I look my best – and as far as I’m concerned there are also different types of “look my best.” Whether it be for work, or casual, or lounging around my house… I know I can “look my best” in my uniform, jeans and a sweater, or nothing at all. Recently, some jackass called me “high maintenance” because I told him I was headed to get a manicure and a spa pedicure. I don’t think being a girly-girl means I can’t hang with the boys and play video games or drink beers. I don’t think it makes me unrelatable to other women. I’d like to know when caring about how I look/smell/dress became “high maintenance”? I don’t expect anyone else to pay for these habits/routines, and I don’t go overboard. I will occasionally run out of the house in yoga pants, a hoodie, and sneakers to run errands (but only throwing a hat on over my hair). I don’t wear makeup to the gym, unless I’ve applied it earlier in the day for another occasion. I don’t really know where I’m going with this rant, so I’ll stop here. The goal was to get out 500 words to be the writer’s block, and I did it. Go me.  

Tags: , , ,

Things I’m Wicked Bad At (Shocking, right?)

7 Dec

I know, I know. You’d think I would be good at everything and anything I attempt. Truth is, there are a few things I’m simply AWFUL at. Ladies and gentleman, the things I suck at:

Hiding My Emotions

While I am a killer poker player (for real), you’d never know it by my complete inability to keep what I’m thinking/feeling from showing up written all over my face. The guys at work bust on me frequently because I struggle to hide my thoughts when a customer is being stupid/disrespectful/a jagoff/a pain in my ass/whatever. Smiling through it all is one of my biggest challenges, especially when my inner monologue is going off on a wicked diatribe. I cannot tell you how many times a day I have to smile through gritted teeth while thinking “You’re a fucking asshole, please go directly to hell.”  I’ve gotten better at this while at work, but in general, it isn’t pretty.  I scoured my photos on Facebook and on my computer to try and find some candid examples, and didn’t seem to have any. You’ll have to take my word on it.

Being Patient

That’s right, I just linked a GnR video. You’re welcome.
 
Anyway… Patience may be a virtue, but it’s one I don’t possess. Waiting is something I’m awful at. I get irritable and cranky, and GOD FORBID I have to wait for something I’ve been looking forward to. I become a rammy, ornery, obstinate five-year-old when having patience is required. This probably classifies me as an asshole, but I think I’m okay with it. This is partially because I know, try as I might, this is a character trait that is unlikely to change. Leopards don’t change their spots, and I don’t wait if I don’t have to.
 

Peeing in a Cup

Yeah, this one’s probably TMI

Okay, so… if you’re a female, and you’ve ever been to the ER for any reason, you know they will inevitably make you pee in a cup to make sure you’re not pregnant. They do this even if you tell them you’re NOT and that there is NO WAY you’re pregnant. If you’ve ever worked for corporate America, you’ve probably had to pee in a cup for a drug test. If you’ve ever suspected you may have a UTI, you’ve had to pee in a cup. Everyone has had to do this at least once in their life. Given my propensity for injury and my job, I’ve probably had to do this more than most. Here’s the thing, kids… I’m awful at it. Here’s how:

 
- The inevitable missing of the cup. Without fail, I cannot seem to hit the cup first try. This usually results in a wet hand, which is fucking gross.
-Dropping the cup. I have done this more than once… the cup lands in the toilet – also fucking gross.
-PEE BOMB. This is my most recent peeing-in-a-cup mishap. I was at the ER to have my dislocated knee checked out. I managed to NOT miss the cup, and feeling rather accomplished, I hobbled to set the cup on the sink so I could put the lid on it and wash my hands. Fate, elegant, cold-hearted whore that she is, decided there was NO way I was getting off easy. I lost my grip on the cup, and in what can only be described in a slow-motion moment of catastrophe, it dropped to the ground like a brick. Needless to say, a huge mess and my endless mortification followed.
 
Now that you all know far more about me than you’d ever care to, I’ll move it right along…
 
 
Doing Any Sort of Household Chore in a Timely Manner
I’m aware this is not a picture of housework. It’s a picture of a hot maid. You’re welcome. Again.

Okay, so check it out. If there is a way for me to put off laundry, dishes, vacuuming, etc without my house looking like a mess, I will find it. Housework is something I loathe. If I know I am having company, I generally wait until the last possible minute to get any general straightening done -you know, pillow fluffing, spot-dusting, blah blah. This fact probably leads you all to believe I live in  squalor, but this is the farthest thing from the truth – my place is clean. I just HATE cleaning it. I’m great at cleaning… I just prefer to procrastinate in doing so. I need a housekeeper.

 
 
Okay, so I know there is a shit ton more I could put on this list… I just don’t feel like it. I don’t need to give any of you lovely fuckers more of my shortcomings.
 
XOXO
 

I Have a Problem (But it’s so, so delicious)

6 Nov

First of all, HAPPY NATIONAL ORGASM DAY!! That’s right, National Orgasm Day is a real thing. So, my darling readers, don’t forget to take  care of your special someone today (or yourself, if you’re unattached – everyone deserves a Big O today).

Anyway, I thought I’d fill you all in on this addiction that I’ve been battling for most of my adult life. Some people smoke, some drink to dependency. Others inject God knows what into their veins. I suppose my addiction is nowhere near on par with any of those things, however, it’s an expensive habit. It’s energy drinks.

SWEET, SWEET ENERGY.

ROCKSTAR. RED BULL. MONSTER. AMP. I can’t get enough of this shit. My initial addiction began my freshman year of college when I was waitressing at Bennigan’s, working at CelNet selling phones,  and going to school full-time. I was often going from class straight to one job, only to head from there to the next job. At that point in my life I hadn’t yet acquired my love of coffee, so I sought an energy boost elsewhere. I would drink a Red Bull on my way to class to help myself wake up, sip a Monster while selling phones, then chug a RockStar or three while waitressing to keep moving until our 1am closing time. I’d get home at 3am, sleep til 7 or 8am, and start it all over again. I kicked the habit a few times, much to the dismay of my family, friends, and coworkers, as I am a wretched bitch if I am not properly caffeinated by 10am.

Now that I’m out of college and on a fairly regular schedule, you’d think I’d get over it. Nope. Not so much. My bouts of insomnia and/or sleepwalking leave me unrested more often than not, and when I am at work, I have to be chipper and able to face the public. Enter my addiction to get me through the day. The problem is, moderation isn’t exactly a part of my extensive vocabulary. Every damn time I decide to quit these things because I’m back on a solid sleep schedule, something happens to knock me back off track, and I’ve got that stupid caffeine monkey on my back again. I’m pretty sure this vicious cycle will be the reason my heart explodes one day.

It always starts innocently enough… I get back on coffee. Then I start drinking roughly four to five cups a day. Who doesn’t love a great cuppa joe? Next thing you know, my ass is drinking energy drinks back to back, always knowing in the back of my mind that I’m going to end up feeling like a strung-out crack fiend within the hour.  I zip around like a fucking nut job, talking way too fast, completely unable to stand still, and annoying the ever-loving shit out of my coworkers. At least some of them think it’s funny.

I really should cut back and not be so goddamn impatient when it comes to letting the caffeine do its trick. However, patience is something I was born without, so instead, I OD on the regular. It looks a little something like this (yes, it’s another Jenna Marbles video. Get over it.):

So, kids… any recommendations on how to beat this one once and for all? For my own sanity, and the sanity of those around me, I really need to get over this chemical dependency… no matter how delicious it may be.

Like Water Off a Duck’s Back (The Walking Mishap’s Guide to a Bad Day)

16 Oct

“Had a bad day, don’t talk to me, gonna ride this one out…” -Unwritten Law

We all have them on occasion. Those days when you simply wake up in a shitty, rotten mood; you can’t pinpoint the rhyme or reason behind it and often times, it’s a bitch to shake. I woke up this morning, having one of those days. It could be because I’m worried sick about my pup, Dexter, who doesn’t seem to be feeling well. Maybe it’s because I’m stressed about work and money and all sorts of things you worry about when you’re an adult. Perhaps tripping down my basement steps with a cup of coffee in hand on my way out the door to head to work egged this black cloud on. Either way, I got to work in a shit mood. Zero patience and customers who are just as shitty a mood as I am = AWFUL combination.

As I sit here on my lunch break with my mood slowly but surely improving, I figured I’d give you all MY solutions to shaking a shit mood without hurting anyone (no matter how much you may want to).

  • MUSIC. By now, I’m sure you’ve figured out I prefer my life with a soundtrack. When I get into moods like this, I will either listen to angry, angry punk rock, or some sort of upbeat stuff to try and rock myself out of said mood.  I find that silence only allows me to think more than I should, so cranking something with a solid tempo keeps me from getting too over-analytical. The type of shitty mood generally dictates the musical selection, but this one worked pretty well for me today:

  • SOMEONE ELSE’S MOOD. Often times, when we’re in a shit mood, we allow ourselves to wallow. We don’t WANT to feel better because… well, who the fuck knows. It’s human nature. Some of us (myself included) don’t enjoy seeing others in a good mood when we’re down  – misery loves company and all that. I’ve found, however, that letting someone else’s good mood rub off on you is a better idea than trying to bring them down with you. The only person who can keep you in a shitty mood is yourself – this is something I often forget. Two of the guys I work with are the happiest people I know – so it’s my mission today to let their positivity rub off on me.
  • COMFORT FOOD. As I’m sure you remember from my “Fatty” post, I love food. A lot. In fact, “eating my feelings” is something I do quite well. For me, food can be a mood booster. This is a mood fix that I don’t recommend leaning on as a crutch -it’ll get you plump in a hurry. However, the handful of Teddy Grahams I just munched on (less than a listed full serving) were a solid pick-me-up. All things in moderation – I find that one or two Hershey’s Kisses an boost my mood even just a little.
  • MAKE A PLAN. If there is something that is stressing you, lay out a plan to fix it. Simply working out a solution in your head and/or putting it on paper can make a problem that much less scary – it lets you see it’s manageable.
  • SOLITUDE CAN HURT OR HELP. Depending on the type of bad mood I’m in, being by myself can either improve it or it can only make it worse. Sometimes a bad mood is simply the result of needing to recharge – I think that’s where mine came from this week. I didn’t really have a “day off,” and dealing with people day in and day out at work can be taxing. In the 40min I’ve been sitting here in the backroom on my lunch break, my mood has improved ten-fold. I’ve got my headphones in, and I’m ignoring the world. Other days, when I wake up in a bad mood, surrounding myself by good company is the best medicine.
  • TAKE A DEEP BREATH. Or three or four or five. Close your eyes while doing it, and focus only on the breath. I know this sounds all kinds of new-agey, but in my experience, it’s a fantastic way to center yourself.

 

That’s all I’ve got for the moment… and I’m feeling better already. I guess I should throw “writing” on that list up there, huh?

 

 

Tags: , , ,

Being Grown Isn’t Half as Fun as Growing Up. (Random Musings from The Walking Mishap)

12 Oct

It’s been awhile since I’ve done a random musings post, so here it is.

  • I believe that owning a dog is a better antidepressant than any pharmaceutical company could ever manufacture. There is nothing like coming home to Dexter, my 9lb Maltipoo, after a bad day and seeing that little tail wagging, knowing he’s happy to have me home.
  • I am fairly certain I’m part psychic. Okay, so that may be a load of horseshit, but my intuition is creepily accurate, and I often go to pick up the phone to call someone just before it rings, with them calling me. This is probably coincidence, but it happens all the damn time.
  • I think Occupy Wall Street is a hypocritical clusterfuck. Let’s all protest America while tweeting from our iPhones and drinking Starbucks Venti Mocha Triple-Shot Vanilla Swill Lattes while mommy and daddy foot the bill for our educations and living expenses. I may be in the “99%” they speak of, but they don’t speak for me.
  • My car is named Bruce. I’m really not going to elaborate here, but it’s got something to do with the fact that some people seem to think it’s a Transformer and that it, being an inanimate object, actually has a sexual orientation. I’m leaving this one alone.
  • I seem to be migrating hardcore from Facebook onto Twitter. Since Facebook is trying to be what MySpace was, Twitter seems to be the new cool-kid hangout. Sure, it has its trolls and twatwaffles that you don’t want to associate with, but it’s pretty nifty.  Follow me… @walkingmishap
  • People have a penchant for calling me Sunshine. I cannot tell you how many people have called me this at one point or another, fairly consistently. I’d like to think it most often has to do with my sunny disposition, but have a feeling it is more related in a smart-assed way to my cynicism and loathing of mornings. I’ve been called this by many, but it holds special meaning for only one of them.
  • I have an addictive personality. Whether it comes to listening to the same album over and over again, my ever-growing coffee/Diet Coke dependency, food (by now you should have read my “I Refuse to Be a Fatty Ever Again” post), booze (not so much these days… moreso when I was younger), I get fixated. Some of these may classify as an actual addiction (my dependency on caffeine is a physical one at this point), while others may not, but I get very single-minded at times. A therapist once described this as having “addictive tendencies” and occasionally being “single-minded to the point of recklessness.”  I prefer the term “focused.” Considering parts of my family history, none of this is surprising.
  • I have this nagging, insatiable need to get another tattoo. The only thing holding me back is a lack of funds and my indecision on what I want/where I want to put it. I’ve got more than one idea, and I don’t know which I want to go for first.
  • Adele and The Horrible Crowes have both been on constant playlist repeat. If you haven’t listened to either of them, you need to. Now.
  • People don’t rock out nearly enough. One of my biggest cathartic activities is blasting angry boy rock at full volume and simply rocking the fuck out and singing along at the top of my lungs, no matter how off key I am. It may not fix my problems, but it sure as shit lets me get some aggression out. If more people did this, maybe there wouldn’t be so many angry motherfuckers out there.
  • As much as people think I play fast and loose with relationships and emotions, I really do believe in life-changing, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching love.  I’ve been there. I’ve felt it. I know it exists. Part of the reason I occasionally get ribbed for “dating like a guy” (this does not mean slut – this means I am not one to really get caught up in the games) is because I refuse to settle, and I’m not going to waste time on someone I’m not interested in.
  • I suffer from a touch of hypochondria. I used to suffer from more than just a touch – my family and friends had to ban me from WebMd a while back. All I can say about this is that it runs in the family, the hypochondria thing. Also, I’ve gotten much better… seeing as I haven’t diagnosed myself with a brain tumor in at least two years.

That’s all you’re getting for now… more to come soon, I’m sure.

Let’s Check One Off the Bucketlist (well, at least make a valiant effort…)

6 Oct

I’d like to think that in recent weeks, I’ve gotten much better about updating you all on my exploits (hell, I even threw you a bone and gave you VIDEO of me making an asshole of myself). It’s time to take it up a notch. In an effort to check  “get my writing published” off my running bucketlist, I’m joining the National Novel Writing Month challenge. Fifty thousand words in thirty days. One thousand six hundred sixty seven words PER DAY. I must be huffing glue, right??

After a friend of mine (well, a Twitter friend of mine) mentioned this challenge, and I asked her what it was… and I’ve decided to throw myself into the deep end. I cannot tell you how many novels I have started in the past, only to abandon them for various reasons. The one and only “novella” I have ever actually completed was in my senior year of HS, and it was for my creative writing class. T-McG (god he hated that name), my teacher, was a huge influence on my writing, and it’s only now that I’m realizing this. Go figure. Anyway, expect more Walking Mishap posts here within the next month, as I need to train myself to write EVERY DAY. I make no promises regarding the coherency of these posts… this place could potentially turn into an utter shit show – if that happens, I apologize. I really need to start telling you guys more stories about my mishaps, so that I can work back into “story teller” mode and out of  “crazy opinionated white chick” mode. I realize many of my recent posts have been more commentary than story-based, and I fear maybe I’ve gotten away from my original premise for this site… then I remember it’s MY damn site and I can do with it what I please.

At this point, I have about twelve novel ideas rolling around in my head, and I have absolutely no idea how many of them are solid enough to bring to fruition. I think my biggest fear in this is that whatever idea I decide to run with, it’s going to end up on my flash drive as a great effort for the first three thousand words, then a sad dissolution into nothingness. This has been the fate of the past SIX novels I’ve attempted to start writing. Often, my novels start as a catharsis, and then I end up working through whatever bullshit I was dealing with at the time and not concluding the story. Meh.

That’s all I’ve got for now… have some stuff brewing for you guys soon – keep checking back, and for the love of God, TELL YOUR FRIENDS!

 

Tags:

I’m Pretty Sure I Suck At Vlogging… (but I’ll keep plugging away)

1 Oct

So, it’s 1:26am, and I can’t sleep. No surprise there… I’ll be getting a post up about insomnia sometime in the near future. Anyway, since I can’t sleep, I decided to give vlogging a shot. I don’t really have a solid enough video to post as a serious vlog/rant/video, but since I have no shame, here’s the first-ever blooper reel… that’s right, I’m posting the blooper reel before posting a real video because I’m curious to see the response it gets.

Don’t judge. Also, I apologize for the potty mouth.

 

← Older Entries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

%d bloggers like this: