Lightening Crashes.

Yesterday morning, I discovered something I couldn’t have known until that point.

My airbags work.

One minute I was driving down the interstate, looking behind me at the left lane to see if I could switch lanes. The next minute, I was watching helplessly as my car smashed into the van in front of me and bounced backwards.

I don’t remember being so close to the van. I only remember the way the back of it looked as I careened towards it and the smell of smoke that filled my nostrils. By the time I realized what had happened, the air bags were already deflated and my car had come to a stop on the highway. My car, as evidenced by the sagging front bumper and the crookedly erect front hood, was totaled.

I started to cry.

I called work first, then Jason, then my family. It all just happened so fast.

The police were on the scene immediately, as well as the CVS Samaritan, followed by the tow truck. My mom left work to pick me up. As I walked to her car, I noticed something gold glinting on the ground. It was my gold Toyota symbol. I tucked it in my purse – the last symbol of my first car.

My mom took me home to take IBUProfen and lay down. By then, whiplash had set in and my left side was stiffening up. Luckily, I was not hurt elsewhere. No cuts, no bruises, not even burn marks. The only evidence that I’d even been at the accident was a light red slash on my arm where the airbag had popped out and a lipstick stain on the airbag – a kiss goodbye.

Mom took me to the doctor that afternoon. He was surprised I wasn’t hurt much worse than I was. He gave me several prescriptions, including one for Vicodin, and told me to prepare myself for a bad day tomorrow.

I spent the next several hours answering phone calls from insurance and concerned friends. When I finally got the official estimate from the claims office, I wasn’t surprised: $7,400 in damage. In their words, it was a “total loss”. Time to visit the tower and pick up my stuff.

Mom and dad took me out for Chinese. Aside from a brief “I keep telling you to keep your distance, but noooo…” lecture from dad, they weren’t mad, just relieved I was alive. Mom then took me grocery shopping at the Chinese grocer, and then to Walgreens to pick up all my pills. Just to show you how NOT big picture oriented I am, I was more excited to find red bean ice cream than I was in figuring out how I was going to live without a car.

I returned home late, fed Maxi, and thought about my life. At 1:00 in the morning, my roommate woke me up screaming about a cockroach crawling outside my door. It scurried, we screamed, it scurried faster, we screamed louder. After 10 minutes of high pitched screaming, jumping, and shoe throwing, she finally killed it with my skateboard.

I fell back onto my bed and laughed.

Life still goes on.

No more bugs, thank the Lord.

After the undeniably bizarre bug-in-ear incident, life has calmed down to its usual swell and upheaval. (Thank goodness, too. Can you imagine something worse than a bug stuck in your ear canal, stinging you to death?)

Work has been incredibly slow this week. Fortunately I’m prepared for 95% of all crises and brought a book. Boy’s Life by Robert R. McCammon. Picked it up for free, never heard of the author, totally love it. If you love adventure, mystery, and the smell of carefree days, you will love this.

I also am the main writer for FashionCincy, an online magazine about the fashion scene in Cincinnati. (Go read some articles so you can get a taste of my style. Oh, and can you figure our which pseudonym is mine?) It’s time to write next month’s articles, so beginning tomorrow I will be interviewing owners of upscale retail stores. Is it ironic that a girl who buys dresses for $5 on consignment should be the main writer of a fashion magazine? Ironic or not, this is fun!

In other news, Maxi my chinchilla is totally NOT the shy little rodent I predicted her to be. On the contrary, she’s gotten to be quite agile, daring, and smart, with a side of crazy. She can jump a foot in the air. She scales the outer walls of her cage – her cage is 4 ft. tall. She climbs up my arm and onto my shoulder. She sits on my lap and runs down my leg. She even figured out that if you’re in a plastic ball and you need to go uphill (like, say, from hardwood to carpet), you should get a fast head start from afar. Smart smart smart. Oh, and she poops like none other. I’m thinking of nicknaming her “The Shitter”.

My roommates and I are throwing our first house party this Saturday. Come to think of it, this will be my first house party of my life. I never was the party kind in school. Too messy, too boozy, too not interesting enough to rob me of precious sleep. This party, however, will have all the fun and perks of a good party, without the craziness of obnoxious people. I will be hot, I will play Scrabble, I will win at least one game of FlipCup.

Jason finally learned that words are the fastest way to my heart. I left him sleeping on my bed Monday morning and when I returned, the bed was made and a note was sitting on it: I would have liked to see you off this morning. A goodbye kiss or something. I love you. I will call you tonight. Jason.

You mean after 500 days of the same “WHY CAN’T YOU WRITE ME A NICE NOTE OR CARD FOR ONCE” rant, you actually listened?!

Aw, honey. And to think this whole time I thought all you heard was “Blah blah blah, blah blah blah SEX, blah blah blah, blah blah blah naked.”

Eh, what the hell.

Thanks, Angel, for the tag!

3 things that scare me
Gory horror flicks
The thought of losing my loved ones prematurely
Bugs in my ear (see previous post)

3 people that make me laugh
My no-fail funny friends are: Jimmy, Elliott, Pat,
Most Ben Stiller/Owen Wilson/Vince Vaughn movies
And yeah, I agree with Angel: Carlos Mencia is damn funny

3 things I love
FOOD. Give me food NOW.
A new haircut.
A personal letter in the mail.

3 things that I hate
Constipation
Feeling fat or bloated
Drivers who cut me off

3 things I don't understand
All politics and most history
Why boys can be SO dense sometimes
How could everyone else be so healthy and I have an ailment or a new disease every month

3 things on my desk
Picture of Jason and I in a kiss
Inflatable bozo the clown
A 2 ft. yellow vase

3 things I'm doing right now
Talking to my friend online
Looking at the clock…is it 5:00 yet?
Thinking dirty thoughts

3 things I want to do before I die
Get into a fight with an asshole and kick ass
Perform an act of complete selflessness
Conceive from the man I love

3 things I can do
Pull off a very convincing southern accent
Write. Well.
Wear granny panties and not be ashamed.

3 ways to describe my personality
Outrageously funny
Blatantly honest
Hopelessly hopeful

3 things I can't do
Shoot a layup in basketball
Cast a fishing rod
Believe in science

3 things I think you should listen to
Country music
God/Jesus
Your bestfriend

3 things you should never listen to
The devil
Tabloids (good call, Angel)
Your drunk boyfriend

3 absolute favorite foods
Greek
Indian
Japanese

3 things I'd like to learn
Play guitar
Speak Russian and American Sign
How to apply makeup perfectly

3 beverages I drink regularly
Cold water
Cold Tazo or sweet tea
Hot chai

3 shows I watched as a kid
Carebears
Smurfs
Sesame Street

3 people I am tagging
Emerald
Daphne
Kimananda
And everyone else who reads this. That's YOU.

Buzz buzz I hate you.

Some people hear voices in their head. If you're me, you hear bugs. That's right, I said it. Bugs.

At some point on Wednesday evening I spotted a huge ass bug that looked like a wasp buzzing over my ceiling. I swatted at it. I must have missed, but I couldn't tell. I couldn't find the body.

At 1:00am, I woke up. I felt a buzzing in my ear. No, a fluttering. Something that sounded like water rolling around from my ear to the inside of my head. It felt like Swimmer's Ear, but how could I have Swimmer's Ear at 1 0'clock in the frickin' morning?!

At first I tried Q-tips and jumping up and down. Nothing. I hopped online, but I didn't fit the bill for an ear infection or Swimmer's Ear. Just in case, I popped some Benadryl (in case this was a weird allergy reaction) and Tylenol (for the pain). In the back of my mind, I couldn't push away the thought that maybe the bug from earlier that evening had crawled into my ear for revenge. An absurd thought? Maybe. But nothing else explained it.

By this time, it was 2am. I called Jason. He dismissed it as irregular ear pain and advised me to sleep on it.

As soon as I hung up the phone, something jabbed me in the ear. I felt like one hundred knives were stabbing me. I grabbed my ear and squeezed my eyes, falling onto my bed. If my roommates weren't sleeping, I would have had them rush me to the ER. I thought my head was going to explode.

In one last desperate attempt, I hopped online again and found a few sites that recommended dropping warm olive oil into my ear. I didn't have a dropper or olive oil. But I did have vegetable oil and a spoon. As I stared at our big vat of oil and the spoon in my hand, I began to question my sanity. But pain will do strange things to people. Into my ear it went.

Within seconds, the pain melted away. All was quiet. Had I not been so exhausted, I would have cried. I passed out almost immediately.

This afternoon I went to the doctor to talk about a few things. I mentioned my ear mishap, so he took a look into my ear.

Can you guess what he found?

Yep. A bug. A big, black, nasty bug. No doubt the same bug I'd swatted at.

It took him 3 tweezers and 10 minutes to extract the bug from my ear. (By the way, it hurt like hell.) I shuddered when I saw the carcass inside the bloody tissue. And no, the blood was not from the tweezers. It was from my ear - apparently, the excruciating pain I'd felt on Wednesday night had come from the bug's stinger...it was stinging me in my ear canal.

I shudder at the thought that I carried a bug's carcass around in my ear for 48 hours.

A bug. In my ear. What are the odds?!

So to all you folks that swear up and down that your room is shrinking or your pets talk to you or bugs are buzzing inside your ear...I believe you. Yes, I do.

Whatta crocka BEEEEEP

If you aren't familiar with a movie, you don't care how edited it is as long as you enjoy it. You're not a fan. You don't know any better and you don't care.

But when you know a movie...and I mean know it like you know the moles on your face...know it like you know when your kid or SO is lying...that's when you care. If someone edits or, god forbid, takes a scene out, you're outraged. (I knew LOTR so well that when the extended versions came out, I could tell you where they composed the music differently.) That movie is a piece of art! Don't you dare touch it!

That's why I had to laugh as I watched Matrix I on TBS last night. It was the scene near the beginning where Morpheus is trying to coax Neo to run away from Mr. Smith by going out the window. He couldn't do it, so the Matrix dudes took him away. Trinity, who was watching the entire thing from the rear view mirror of her motorcycle, says "Shit" and drives away.

Except last night she didn't say "Shit."

She said "Shucks."

Not "Shoot", not "Shitake mushrooms", not "Oh my balls, they just kidnapped my future lover."

Shucks.

SHUCKS?!

Zion's savior, Morpheus' last hope for his people and YOUR hunk of burning love, just got nabbed by the evil Matrix dudes and all you can say is "Shucks"?!

I know that the cable network probably does it because heaven forbid little Johnny hear the word "shit" and go tattling to his mommy. But COME ON. SHUCKS?! Even little Johnny would protest that one.

A new roommate, muscles, and pirates. YARR!

I bought my first pet this weekend!

Sunday, Jason and I went to the petstore. Since I was on a mission, I wasted no time in buying a baby Chinchilla and walked around the store, picking out her accessories, as she sat on my shoulder.

Once we got home, Jason set to work on her 4-floor cage while Heather and I tried to teach the little thing how to roll around in a ball. Poor thing was a little timid and shy, and who can blame her? If I was shipped from box to box and suddenly found myself rolling around in a neon green plastic ball, I'd freak out too. Needless to say, she passed out pretty soon after we put her in her cage.

I decided to name her Maxi or "Miss Max". I'm not sure why I named her that, except to say that I kept thinking it every time I saw her. So "Miss Max" it is. Pictures to come soon!

After a long, long hiatus of sitting on my ass while everyone else left for the gym, I'm happy to announce that I've found a workout that I actually enjoy.

BOXING!

Course, I should have seen this coming. After all, "kicking ass" is high on my list of "to do's before I die". Still, I'd never been exposed to a punching bag or gloves before this weekend, and had no idea the pleasure it could bring.

Saturday night, Jason was working out with his buddies in their homemade barn gym. Normally I make fun of Jason to pass the time, but this time, I decided to punch on the punching bag. After the first punch, I punched it again. And again. And again.

I started hopping around and whopping it. Randy handed me his old boxing gloves and I started wailing at it. Bam BAM BAM! I didn't want to stop.

The next day, Jason and I went to Dick's and I bought my own gloves and a boxing ball (not the standing kind nor the teardrop, but the ball that suspends and comes back at you). Unfortunately the ball has to be blown up, but Jason will do it at his house and bring it back this weekend. I cannot wait!

Last night we went to go see Pirates 2. It was pretty much everything we expected: funnier, longer, louder. Everything a sequel is supposed to be. The ending...well, let's just say I totally called it. At any rate, it was a good time, and I look forward to the next time we can buy an overpriced cherry Icee and choke on a tray of buffalo wings.

YARRR me matey!

Mercy.

Mercy.

What does it look like?

Like this.

I couldn't stop looking at the faces. I couldn’t stop reading their stories. I couldn’t stop wondering – could I show mercy like that? Could I have faith like theirs to hold out for mercy?

Mercy.

It looks like this.

R.I.P. Ball

Moles moles moles. Jason has a million of them and after months of useless threats, he’s finally gone to the dermatologist to get the bigger ones taken off.

Today was his second appointment and also a very important one, as one of the killer moles lived on his inner thigh…for a man, dangerously close to his most valuable possession.

I asked Jason to let me know how the appointment went. This is the text I just received:

“Everything went well…except the doctor slipped and cut off one of my balls. Now I only have two.”

Piss, moan, and fish.

I had today’s post all planned out.

I was going to lead with the stunning declaration that Michael Jackson called me last night. Then, in the second paragraph, I would declare triumphantly how he was so impressed by the fan letter I’d sent him (written in Chinese, no less), that he’d decided to call me. We had a nice chat about his recent move; he read the letter back to me (in Chinese), which impressed me so much that I wondered what other languages he was fluent in.

I was so ready to tell you this that I could literally see the words forming on my blog.

Then I woke up. I realized it was all a dream. No Michael Jackson phone call. I don’t think he can speak Chinese, and I’m not even sure I’m a fan.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell.

So I have nothing to tell you. Nothing except that last night I realized and accepted for the first time that even I, fearless Leslie of the earth, am susceptible to menstrual hormones.

Last night, everything Jason said made me unhappy. He was skeptical about my super plan to make us money, he laughed at my brilliant idea to improve our communication, and he still would not allow me to buy a kitten or a caged pet of any kind. Even when I asked him, “Do you think you’ll ever stop loving me?” he answered, “I don’t know. I can’t tell the future.”

Claaang goes the bad answer gong! Leslie unhappy.

Finally he ceded and assured me that he planned to love me forever, and that fish could be a fun starter pet. “We’ll go buy fish this weekend,” he said. “Promise.”

Fish, huh? Well…okay.

Better be some damn good fish.

Independence Day

Did you have a great 4th of July? Did you watch fireworks? Did you create your own?

Apparently it was time for our monthly fight, because Jason and I spent our evening fighting while my friends left to go see fireworks. (It was just as well, since Jason said he finds fireworks as mundane as I find golf video games. My reply: How could anyone find fireworks to be THAT boring?)

He said I was manipulative and controlling. I said he was insensitive and dense. It was quite the classic male v. female fight. It lasted most of the evening and I’m not sure we got anywhere. However, Jason always says that, despite our fighting, the difference between us and other couples is that we always make up.

I guess he’s right. We were angry at each other for the entire evening, but as soon as I laid my head onto the pillow to sleep, he propped his head up on his hand and looked at me in the dark. I squeezed his nose, he squeezed mine, and it was over.

Maybe that’s what Independence Day is all about – the freedom to choose to be dependant on someone else.

Wilbur circa 2006

On Saturday I drove to my first pig roast at Joe’s (Jason’s bestfriend). It was intended only for family, but as Joe’s mother loves me more than she loves Joe, I was invited months ago.

Having never been to a pig roast before, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But there it was, an immense blackened carcass slowly turning over a hot spit. I admired the grandeur of this pathetic creature, post-Wilbur and pre-dinner. It wasn’t until they took it off the spit and started pulling at its meat and innards that I thought perhaps the vegetarians were on to something. I stuck to pasta and dessert for the rest of the night.

As they had a pool and Saturday was quite a hot day, I spent most of the day in and out of the pool, teasing and playing with all of Joe’s little cousins. Like Jason, Joe lives outside of Cincinnati in a blue collar little town, but other than one rude lady and another man asking me if I was American, I was left to my own devices.

After dinner I slipped out to itch my shopping bug bite. I don’t shop frequently nor am I expensive ($25 for jeans is too much), but as a professional Creative, I am as colorful and tasteful in my appearance as I am in my writing. I also inherited my dad’s cheapness and my mom’s flair for bargains. Add on my pension for sticking it to the man, and you get consignment shops.

In one 2-hour dose, I bought 4 skirts, 1 runway-worthy dress, 4 pairs of shoes, and 2 DVD’s…for $100.

Damn, I am good.

Go Reds go!

Friday night, my roommates, Heather and Chenney, joined my friend Nate and I at a sellout Red’s game of Reds v. Indians. It was my first game of the season, and I came prepared. Reds ball cap, Reds tee shirt, and red suede shoes. (No red pants, still working on that.)

I wasn’t brought up on sports so I often have a hard time grasping the magnitude and significance of it, but I’ve enjoyed the few games I’ve been to. There’s something special about crowding into a stadium of 30,000 people and paying $10 for a coke and hotdog. You feel like you’re a part of a grand tradition of your forefathers and your forefathers’ forefathers.

On Friday night, the 4 of us felt like we were part of a grand tradition of losers. Right off the bat, the Indians scored 5 runs. One inning after another, we didn’t score. We watched helplessly as 0 after 0 blipped onto the screen next to our home team. At the end of the 7th inning, we still hadn’t scored, and the Indians were up by 6. It was hopeless. People started leaving and you could hear them mutter “suck” under their breath.

Then it happened. We scored. Bases loaded and we hit a home run. Then we scored again. It was 7-5. At least we could lose with dignity.

Last inning. Indians scored. 8-5. Our turn. One strike. Two strike. It’s our last chance, and Adam Dunn was batting. Bases were loaded. Miracle of miracles, he bats a home run. We win 8-9!

AHHHHHH the crowd goes balls wild! We’re jumping, we’re dancing, we’re praising the land of overpriced hotdogs.

We didn’t stay for the fireworks, but as I drove through downtown to go home, the fireworks lit up the sky, reflected into a million firelights in window panes.

It was a good time to be a Cincinnatian.