My Stomach Hates me and a Trip to the Doctor.

So a few days ago my stomach decided it had had enough of this digesting food shit and that it was super pissed at me for demanding that it do something with the food that I eat. Which is for me, sadly normal. Because my stomach is a dick. Which meant I had to go back to the doctor. Since I am one of those people who won't go to the doctor until I feel like death is coming for me in the night, Scott had to hound me until I made the appointment and then I didn't want to go because I had had like four hours of sleep the night before because of work and it was snowing.

I like to experience winter from inside the house.

So I went back to the doctor and we talked about the fact that my stomach is like an narcoleptic serial killer that can only remember to kill me when it's awake and then we talked about the fact that you know, having untreated depression and anxiety problems might be at the root of all this and then she gave me a bunch of prescriptions.

Because pills.

So I get home and flip through all the sheets they give you when you start new medications because I enjoy scaring the the crap out of myself and then I see that one of the pills is twice a day before meals and then I take one and it turns out it's an intestinal antispasmodic which is a fancy way of saying it's a goddamned muscle relaxer. Then we had dinner and then I took a shower and put meds in the cats eyeballs and then I went and sat down at the computer and that's when I realized I was high as fuck.

I mean stop the presses high as fuck.

Like I couldn't read words on my computer high.

Then I started to kinda freak out a little because my arms had no weight and I felt like my torso was sinking through the floor and then I was all like shit man this ain't good. So then I wandered around the house while Scott assured me that this was all totally normal and that I shouldn't worry and that it would get better the longer I was on this med and then I was like I am never taking this again because oh my god my fingers are all weird now. Also I kept rubbing my left arm but not my right arm because I don't even know anymore.

So after a bit the weirdest feelings passed and I kinda felt alright and it seemed to be doing what it was supposed to be doing and then I realized that I felt great and I also did not give a fuck. I am not sure why muscle relaxer has this effect on me but it does. And that effect was that I was all out of fucks to give times a thousand.

Like the house could have caught on fire and collapsed around me and I would have stood amid the burning wreckage giving it the finger with both hands kind of not giving a fuck.

Of course I felt great. I felt fantastic. My stomach felt great and I felt a great lassitude and captions of cat pictures on the internet were suddenly the funniest thing ever. Then I went to bed and it was so soft and comfortable like I was laying on a big cloud that smelled like dog and then I shut my eyes and when I woke up and felt like I was wrapped in fuzz and I can't remember a damn thing for more then 20 seconds and I haven't even taken anymore of it and it's taken me two tries to write this blog entry.

Because prescription drugs are the best drugs.

Today however I decided to take the next drug she put me on and now I am dizzy and lightheaded and feel weird again and typing is like magic because words are appearing on the screen as I think them because fingers are the best and hand eye coordination is the best and have you ever thought about how weird that is?

Like how typing is all... neat?

I mean like have you?

Like really?

This is all like, whoa.

I need to stop typing now.

We Fixed the Furnace. Again.

So the next day we got back up determined to get the correct part from the hardware store that is not conveniently located and try to fix the motherfucking fuel oil furnace before we froze to death or the cold demon got us or something. So after doing the morning chores and a good hunk of the afternoon chores we got in the car and sped off to the store where we found the correct CAD eye cell dealy bober and then we somehow ended up in a Walmart because they have mind control rays or something. Oh and I needed muffins. When I have stomach problems I eat muffins. That's just how I roll.

Anyway we got back to the house and then faced the super not fun at all task of installing the damn thing. The CAD Cell eye dohicky went in fairly well, because all we had to do was pull the old one out and snap the new one in.

And by “we” I meant “Scott.”

And then he also did a bunch of stuff with the wiring on it I did not understand and then he moved on to the damn door latch because this is replace all the parts day on this farm. So then he poked it and I asked if he needed a hand and then he said no and then he was all like wait can you get me my Leatherman so I did and then he does some other shit and then he says he doesn't need me. Then the next thing I hear is “I hope I don't get shocked.” Followed immediately by “OW FUCK!”

Which is really the last thing you want to hear at that point.

And then I reappeared at the end of the hallway and was all like “What the hell happened?”

And Scott was all waving his arm around like a Wacky Waving Inflatable Tube Man and he was all like “I just got shocked what the hell do you think just happened?!”

And then I'm all “Why didn't you just turn the damn breaker off?”

And then he was all like “I didn't know which breaker it was.”

An then I was all “why don't we test the damn breakers because I am like standing right here?”

An he was like, “okay.”

So then we went and I turned the damn breaker off and he put in the switch without getting electrocuted and then I went to make a cup of tea and I came back to him sitting on the floor in front of the furnace staring into it's depths with his tools all around him and then he tells me it isn't working.

And then I am all like “why don't you shut the door?”

And then he is all like,” well that would make sense since I just replaced the damn door latch.”

And then he shut the door and the fucking furnace came on and now the house is approaching livable instead of witches titty. And nobody died. That's the most important part. The lack of death. By electrocution.

Of course now I have to go take off the super fleece thermals I put on because it being like 50 degrees inside all day while I was feeling like ass was super not making me happy at all ever so I put on all the layers ever until I felt like a fat starfish but now I am like way, way too hot.

Which is fantastic really.

So if you excuse me I am going to celebrate my new found heat by going down to one layer and eating some crackers.

You know, being my usual wild off the hook self.

It's gonna be a party.

A heat and cracker party.

So the Furnace Broke. Again.

So a few days ago I awoke to the special joy of it being the same temperature outside as it was inside. Which was cold. Because of course the fuel oil furnace had refused to turn on. Which was super great for my stress levels. I mean it's totally not like our 40 to 30 degree weather has me burning firewood that I had set aside for the dark cold depths of winter and also the wood stove cranks the inside temperature into the Sahara or anything.

I mean, it's not like we already paid someone to come out and fix it once.

Ha ha hah no. Fuck.

So I awoke to the super balls cold of 47 degrees and put on thermals and made a fire and then played an extra special round of what is wrong with the furnace this time. Of course when hitting the reset button failed to produce an furnace operating epiphany, we fell back on the old standby of poking it a few times and then went to find the list of things the old dude who had come to fix it said we might have to replace at some point.

Because we were now at “some point.”

Unfortunately because of our work schedules we could not make it to the store during the hours it was actually open because I only know of one store that even sells fuel oil furnace parts and it is a locally run store that isn't open on Sunday and past five. Which was also unfortunate because my body picked that night to become hellishly sick and I spent a good chunk of time huddled on the bathroom floor at 47 degrees.

Which was, if you are wondering, the exact opposite of fun.

It was also the exact opposite of fixing that furnace.

It also meant that I had to miss work. Which pissed me the shit off because unless I am actively dying to the point that Jesus is coming for me and I can see the light of heaven I usually go to work. Because money.

So after wandering around the ice cold motherfucking mobile home I decided to make a fire and crank the stove up to like eighty because my skin hurt too much for me to just put on a goddamn sweater and then I tried not to think about how cold it was going to get overnight because there was no way in hell I was going to get up at 2am and put more wood in the stove.

So I spent another freezing ass night where I realized that the dog is only capable of heating my torso even if I put him under the blankets with me and then my legs felt like stiff pieces of wire and like they were trying to get a divorce from my torso and then Scott came home and we went to buy more furnace parts.

Of course we were going to take pictures of the parts with our phones because planning and then we didn't because bad planning and in the end we just bought what the sales guy said would fit our stove based on our loose description of what we had.

It's how we roll.

Which was when we learned that a new CAD Cell Eye, you know the bit that regulates the fire and whatnot is like 8 bucks and a new door switch is like, 19 because the door switch is made out of unicorn horn or someshit. So we were just like whatever we need this to work and then we get home and of course it isn't the right CAD Cell thing because ha ha fuck you Holly and your shit dreams.

So now we are going out to buy the other CAD Cell Eye thingadoozer and then try to install it and then if that doesn't work I am building a blanket fort in my office and living in it with the dog until spring.

You know like a mature adult would do.

Okay.

I guess Scott can come too.

So All Day Hangovers are a Thing Now.

So in a lapse of judgment a few days ago I got super sweet Jesus drunk with some friends. I mean like all the drunk. I drank all the beers. How many? All of them. In retrospect this was a bad decision. Actually scratch that, I knew it was a bad decision at the time, I was just too drunk to give a crap.

Which was in retrospect, even more of a bad sign.

So lets just say that by the time I made it to the bedroom I had lost vertical hold and I immediately abandoned Operation: Bed in favor of Operation: Towel Fort on the Bathroom Floor Praying for Death. Just then my Super Best Friend texted me because she never sleeps. Or is a vampire or something.

This is our conversation edited heavily because I just got this new smart phone like a week ago and typing on it's tiny keypad when I was drunk was like trying to hit one ant out of twenty with the blunt end of a fire extinguisher.

It was hard is what I am saying.

So it's time for another drunk texting adventure with Holly. You're thrilled, I know.

ME: I am Trashed. The room isn't quite spinning but I have lost my vertical hold. Like, every time I try to lay in bed the room spins but the bathroom is cold as fuck.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: Towel Fort?

ME: Why the Fuck is alcohol legal? Why god why? So cold. So bathroom.

ME: Why does the bathroom vent run ALL THE TIME!?

SUPER BEST FRIEND: I always wonder that too but that's always why I sit in the bathroom when I am way too drunk because it's like a cold shiny cave.

ME: May be trapped in bathroom. Please do not abandon me now.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: That's the worst.

ME: Help meeeeeee.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: I would chug water, either it will cause you to throw up or rehydrate you.

ME: Well I drank a bunch of water and it hurts.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: I'm surprised your doing this well with your texting.

ME: Yeah, it's like I am being forced to transcribe messages onto the side of a mouse. Considering I can't stand up, me too.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: The key pads are pretty tiny.

ME: At least I know someone is on my side. Well besides the toilet. He may be on my side. Hard to tell with toilets.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: ...

ME: Night one of the arctic expedition. Temperature drop not unexpected but very cold. Despite building barrier wall fort bed was swept by nausea windstorm. Have hunkered down to whether storm.

ME: Water supplies low. Must brave Mt. Sink in order to make it till morning.

ME: It will be a dangerous climb. I cannot attempt summit directly. I must travel up the south face to reach the summit.

ME: The locals call the south face only “toilet.” I have yet to puzzle out it's meaning.

ME: I have gained the summit. Although at much cost. Was forced to rest on toilet.

ME: The cold grows worse as the night deepens. I have made it back to lower base camp towels.

ME: All seems undisturbed. The high cold winds of the summit are not as strong here.

ME: Still the ever present wind is here. It is a constant hand pressing on me. Numbing my fingers and toes.

ME: I have to stay awake. I have to keep my fingers and toes from freezing. Will never reach morning if I cannot use hands. Hope to recover base camp bed.

ME: Was it the folly of man that led me here? To the ends of the hospitable world? Was it a driving need to feel such remote places reflected in oneself that drove me?

ME: Extremities losing feeling. I must attempt base camp bed or I may perish.

ME: If I do not make it, I hope this journal will be found. May it be my last will and testament.

ME: Water supplies low.

ME: After a long and grueling journey I have made it to base camp bed.

ME: Most of my gear is still intact. Praise god that I may keep my fingers and toes.

ME: Pray that I will see morning. Wind has died down. Storm nausea his lost its fury. Tent bed no longer snaps and heaves in the wind. No longer does the wind threaten to raise my tent and loose it from it's moorings and cast me asunder.

ME: I may yet sleep and await the late arctic dawn.

ME: However I must upon waking resume my trek to Mt. Sink for water supplies are again low.

ME: Due to my dire situation I found I could not eat. So I hope with the cold arctic dawn my apatite shall return.

ME: Believe now that I will see morning. Base camp bed warming up. I feel grateful to be alive in this great cold wasteland. Grateful to have come. To test myself against the brittle rocks of fortune.

ME: All may yet be well.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: I feel this is the beginning of a great children's story book about being sick lol.

ME: I know right?

SUPER BEST FRIEND: Ha hah I miss drunken nights with you.

And then we had ALL THE FEELS and then the next morning I got a hangover that lasted THE ENTIRE GODDAMN DAY. Because getting older kinda blows.

Just a little.

And yes I really did text my friend all of that when I was drunk and trapped on the bathroom floor at like, two in the morning. Also I apparently turn into an eighteenth century explorer when I am super drunk.

Because I am like, a super writer who doesn't let pesky things like hand eye coordination and sobriety get in her way of writing a banging story which is pretty inspirational if you think about it.

Except for the toilet bit.

Fairy Tales and the Extremely Unquestioning People Within Them.

So lately I have been rereading the Grim's Fairy Tales. Possibly due to feeling too much like a peasant. It's kind of weird to read them now, as an adult. You start picking up on all the weird little shit that you never noticed as a kid. Like the fact that the stories will just make all sorts of statements like, “while the nix was at church, the children saw their chance and escaped.”

Like, oh of course nixs go to church. And I'm all like they do? Wait what the fuck is a nix? Then the story is all like, it was a water nix. And I'm all like, oh okay that makes -no more sense, really.

Whatever a nix is apparently they are very pious. Unless it was a satanic church. Which would probably explain why the nix didn't take the children with her. Although when you have captured two children and are making them your unwilling slaves, you might as well just go ahead and take them to the satanic church anyways. I mean your in this deep anyway right? Unless the other nixs will make fun of you. That might be bad.

Anyway I was reading along learning such important lessons as talking goats are assholes, and foxes might be smart, but they will fuck you over big time if given half a chance, when I came to this story: The Juniper Tree.

Now in the Juniper Tree a wife longs for a child 'as red as blood and white as snow' and she wishes so hard she gets pregnant and has the kid and then dies. Because midwives are for non magical births only, apparently. So her husband morns for a while and then remarries. Like you do. So stepmother and him boogie down (off screen of course) and have a girl.

Great. Good for them.

Except step wife realizes at some point that with his son in the picture, her daughter is going to get like nothing when the husband offs it. Which I have to stop here and say is a very good point, considering up to this juncture the women have been locked in towers and tarred and set upon by wild beasts for so much as thinking about, you know, perhaps not doing everything their male overlords have told them to do. I am sure inheriting your own forest shack or whatever would be miles above being stuck in a glass coffin for seven years cause you didn't want to marry the creepy magician.

Unfortunately the stepmother decides the best way to do this is to kill the guys son.

Not what I would have picked, but okay. Alright. Whatever.

She does this by telling him to get an apple out of a chest, and then cutting his head off with the lid. First off I have never heard of an apple chest and also, that had to be one bitchen lid. I mean like how heavy and sharp would that fucker have had to be? Like, making a pie in that house would be taking your life in your own hands.

Then she freaks the fuck out. Because you know, she just murdered her husbands son. Plus, I have beheaded plenty of chickens in my day, and let me assure you there would have been a lot of blood. I mean like a shit ton. I mean like if both Tim Burton and Quentin Tarantino had been directing this fairy tale amounts of blood.

Her solution?

Ha ha I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that it's gonna be fucked up. I know. What you're picturing, that's not fucked up enough. No, no it's not. More fucked up. Closer. Almost.

What she does?

If you guessed bind his neck up with a handkerchief, put the apple in his hand wait till the daughter gets home, tell her to get the apple, ignore her questions about how pale her brother is, and then tell the daughter to box his ears for not giving the apple to her so she does and then his head flies across the room and her own daughter thinks that she is the murderer you'd be right.

Yeah, it's that fucked up.

And when her girl asks WTF they are going to do now, she tells her will make him into puddings. I can think of oh about ten ways she could have handled this better. Because at this point her daughter starts to weep uncontrollably. The text is very clear on this. Weeping bitterly ain't got nothing on this. Which of course the girl child does THE ENTIRE TIME THEY ARE MAKING THE FOOD.

Picture this. Picture you have been out all day at your day job, whatever that is. Cutting trees, hunting, bringing in crops, you are tired so you head home. On your arrival you find your wife has made a shit ton of meat pudding. Like a crap ton. And your daughter is crying so hard she can't even speak. And your son in nowhere to be found.

So you're like where is my son. And your wife is all like, he is um, ah, visiting his uncle. And you're all like he left? Uh huh. Without even saying goodbye to me? And your wife is all like, have some pudding?

So you, your wife, and your daughter who is crying so hard I imagine all this conversation took place in yells over the sound of her sobbing, sit down to dinner.

Would eat you eat that fucking pudding?

I wouldn't.

And what do you think he did?

Yep.

Uh huh.

At that point I had to stop reading. Like, do you posses no analytical skills whatsoever? Like your whole house probably smells of puddings and blood, your wife (whom I picture as having an insane smile on her face) has just baked like a shit ton of fucking meat, and your daughter is crying so hard it hurts, AND your son is mysteriously missing, WTF are you thinking has just happened?

Does your wife normally do this? Just, bake a shit ton like that? In one day? With all this meat you have no idea how she afforded? Do you think that your daughter is just crying because she broke a nail?

Look, I know I have been reading through stories about talking drops of blood, glass mountains, a castle with servants who are cats, and talking magic fish who live at the bottom of wells, and girls that have gold fall out of their mouths when they speak, but this is where it all fell apart for me.

I'm not sure what that says about me, but I can tell you that if Scott ever starts making a shit ton of meat pies and I can't find any of the cats, I'm going to order a goddamned pizza. 

 

Internet Through The Phone and my PC Hates Change.

So you may recall the part of me getting a new phone was that Scott wanted to move to getting internet through the phone company like this is the future or someshit. So after we got home from the store we took the router and hooked it up and Scott was able to glory in the lighting fast (comparatively) phone router internet setup and my laptop was all like I HAVE FOUND THE PROMISE LAND LET US UPDATE EVERYTHING. However to get the internet on my cranky old desktop PC we would need to install a wireless card.

Cue ominous music.

Turns out my dads cranky old desktop PC had a wireless card in it. A card that Scott removed and out into my PC. Cause there is no way that could ever go wrong. Then he is all like, let me get the disk and then I freak out about the number of dust bunnies in my tower. They had a city. A dust bunny utopia, if you will. So about the point I am going crazy with the vacuum Scott walks back in and announces he couldn't find the disk.

And I'm all like, my dad kept floppy disks from the seventies in his desk and he doesn't have the CD to his wireless card?

An Scott's all like, no. But it's okay, because we can just download the software from the internet.

Which was about like him saying, it's okay, we'll just build another car from parts in the garage.

First off the wireless card sites was about as easy to navigate as a minotaurs maze, and kept telling my brand of wireless card didn't exist even though it totally did. Then when we did the get the right files my PC refused to allow them to be added manually. In the end I had to restart and use the found new hardware wizard to add the files by gently pointing it to the right folder before it could get all judgey with me.

Then we finally got it to the point where the drivers were installed and working only to discover that it couldn't find any networks. Well fuck.

So then we did arcane things and windows told us it was all our fault and it began to get really passive aggressive and it was like, getting kinda late so I was just like, why don't we just get a USB wireless adapter from the Wal-mart tomorrow? And Scott was all like, okay, even though we have to get in a bunch of firewood tomorrow because winter is a thing that happens around these parts.

So then the next morning we awoke and made the great pilgrimage to the cooperate demon that is Wal-mart and bought the motherfucking USB things and drove home. Then Scott was like, I am going out to get things ready for firewood getting and I was all like, cool let me just install this and I'll be right out.

And I by let me just install this I meant a four hour triathlon from hell.

First off, I put the disk in like it says and it gets going and sounds like it's having some sort of CD seizure in there but I don't want to mess with it but no knew dialog boxes are coming up and I'm getting kinda freaked out but I let it go and get a cup of tea.

Upon my return I click through a few things about how they are totally not collecting your information for nefarious purposes but hey they totally are and I don't need a newsletter or a tool bar and no you can't have my email address and then it tells me to plug in the USB and then it can't find the damn thing. So then I tired another port. Then another one. Then a few more. Then I debated the likelihood of all the USB ports on my machine being bad a once.

I decided against it.

Outside I could hear the happy sounds of Scott loading tools into the truck. I shot a hunted look at the clock and opened my laptop and started searching. After a bit of hunting around forums I found that this was a very common problem and there was only one real solution.

I was going to have to delete my third party non widows firewall.

It was the only way.

At that point I calmly walked outside and told Scott this was going to take longer then I thought. He nodded grimly and started up the truck. I was on my own now.

What followed was not just me uninstalling my firewall, guiding the program to the device, spending something like thirty minutes restarting and manually adding networks and clicking and unclicking boxes before at last, at long last I had the wireless network appear on my screen.

And it was slower then shit.

Like turtles with leg injures slow.

What followed was me using the extend cable to move the USB as close to the router as possible before I got something resembling internet. Of course this meant that every point of my failure was marked by a little Velcro square but whatever I am building a house. I looked at clock again, felt a pang and thought I'll just reinstall the firewall before going out.

Which retrospectively was a lie.

For whatever reason, the firewall refused to reinstall. I tried everything. I tried old versions. I tried new versions. I tried running a cleaner to do a clean remove and then restarted and reinstalled. I tried sacrificing my lunch to the great Computer God. I tried swearing a whole shit ton of a lot.

Finally I switched on windows shittastic firewall, went outside and helped Scott stack firewood for the rest of the afternoon. I stacked firewood like each piece had a personal vendetta against me. I stacked firewood like it was a monster dead set against my PC working.

I was kinda pissed off is what I am saying.

So then we get done and I go back inside and I try to download another firewall but the one I wanted the reviews are horrible and then I was like I'll just download Avast because that has a firewall. Only to download the damn thing and find out that there is no firewall on the free version of Avast and then I said whatever motherfucker and then I went to make Scott go hold me and decided I should probably take a shower because wood bits kept falling out of my shirt and pants pockets.

So then I got into the shower and discovered we were out of soap.

In the entire house.

So then I had to throw a towel over myself and walk into the living room dripping all over everything and Scott had to bring me the soap from the kitchen sink. And then I contemplated going to bed right then so my shitty ass day would be over and then I dropped a bowl on my own foot trying to eat ice cream and found a pimple right on the edge of my lip and then I really did just go damn bed.

Some days, man, it's all you can do.

Well, besides eat ice cream.

I Have a Smart Phone Now.

So a few days ago Scott sends me a text on my ancient slide out keypad phone that he wants to get me a smart phone and use the phone company to get Internet now instead of our super shitty satellite Internet that works when it feels like it and has a love hate relationship with clouds.

Well he didn't send all that in one text. I'm paraphrasing.

Then he got back from the phone store and was all like they have this little router thing so we can use the phone network for Internet now. And I was all like how much Internet? And he was all like, I want to take us up to ten gigs a month. And I was all like our phones don't work unless we stand smashed up against the glass sliding door or physically walk outside. And then he was all like we'll just put the router by the door.

And I was all like oookkaayy.

So this all ended up with me standing in the phone store realizing that I didn't put on deodorant and that I don't like change. Specifically phone change. Unfortunately for me the same sales lady that Scott had talked to before was there and she was all like, here is the phone he was talking about for you. And then she walks over and unlocks a cabinet and pulls out this little white box and takes the top off and does that thing to activate the phone so I can play with the screen and hands me this little slim streamlined thing about as thick as a piece of cardboard and my first thought is I am going to break the heck out of it.

Okay.

So I have this thing, you know, I am like, strong. I mean, for a girl I am strong as shit right? Okay. Let me try this again. I once pulled someone's fold out closet door too hard and broke it because they were all like oh it justs sticks just pull it really hard and then I gave it a halfhearted little jerk and then they were all like no, you really have to pull and then I did. I pulled like I would a stuck board or on a set piece at work and then the door popped open and top hinge of the fold broke loose with a bang and I was left holding a big fat accordion like mess and apologizing while they compared me to some sort of female incredible hulk.

Except without the incredible part.

So I felt a little disconcerted at holding a phone so light it felt like motherfucking butterflys were supposed to use it. Of course Scott loved it because it was a smaller version of his phone and had a better screen resolution and it came preloaded with a bunch of apps I was probably never going to use. So then I pulled out my old phone and felt a terrible pang that after today I was never going to use it again and then I asked to see there other smart phones and we went over to the wall where they had phones with screens so big they looked like downsized Kindles.

It was about then that Scott got a hold of the manual and him and the sales lady were telling me a bunch of gibberish that I didn't understand while I was roaming the bright displays of phones trying not to breathe too hard on Slim Mc Breakable.

I had decided to name the phone Slim Mc Breakable.

The sales lady was not thrilled.

So then Scott was all like we'll just have to get you an Otterbox (protective case thing that is named after otters I don't know you tell me) and then Sales Lady is all like oh this phone is too new to have one in yet.

Cue that sound of a record scratching.

So then I was like what?

And then Scott was all like, when will you have them in? And Sales Lady was all, next week. And Scott was like we can just get one next week. And I am all like, we are working most of next week and then we are gone for like a week to work a dusty, outdoor, possibly wet festival.

And then there was a weird moment where Sales Lady and Scott and me and Slim Mc Breakable didn't say anything and then I attempted to explain that it was not possible for Slim Mc Breakable to survive my life and no I couldn't just carry him in my bag because it was filled with tools and every time I pack Oreos in my work bag they come out looking like a topping.

As in my tools crush them into a fine powder.

As in that is exactly what would happen to Slim Mc Breakable.

So then Scott asks more questions about the arrival of the Otterbox and I wander away feeling like I really don't want Slim Mc Breakable but everything else has a screen big enough to double as an end table, when I see it.

The Samsung Rugby Pro.

Fully Waterproof to three meters for thirty minutes. Can withstand being dropped, smashed and crushed and doesn't need an Otterbox. Has real touchable buttons on the front and not those invisible magic buttons. I pull the phone off the wall and take it over and am all like what about this phone?

Scott's face fell. Protectively he reached out and took Slim Mc Breakable from me. What followed was us taking turns on his phone to look up product reviews from each phone. Rugby against Slim Mc Breakable. He would point out Rugby had a slower processor and I would point out the Rugby had a fully sealing case. He would point out Slim was free with the plan where as Rugby was an extra hundred dollars and I pointed out it was my money and that Rugby had a stronger screen.

Finally sales lady said she would knock off ten bucks and that Rugby was one of thier best selling models and then I said sold and I bought that damn phone and the router. Then I am pretty sure Scott shot Slim Mc Breakable a tender broken hearted look. Then Sales Lady goes to move my contacts and SD chip over and I hand her my old phone and she pulls the back off and is like “is this sawdust?” And then we look down at the case and sure as shit there is a bunch of dirt and sawdust ground into the back where the battery fits and then I tell her I think I bought the right phone.

Then Scott had to agree and we went home and Scott made dinner and I fucked up sending a bunch of texts because the keyboard is tiny as shit and makes me feel like I have sausages for fingers.

Then Scott is all like, you know I think you really did get the better phone for your lifestyle and then I felt really good like maybe this whole new phone thing is going to work out well after all.

And then I accidentally sent my friend a bunch of blank texts because I kept hitting the send button instead of backspace.

Whoops.

A Mexican Cookie Assortment and Me.

So the other day we decided to make the trek to the OTHER town to the crazy super discount store. There is no good way to describe this grocery store. For one thing, everything in it is dented. I mean really dented. One time, I shit you not, they had those giant bags of ketchup, you know the kind that are supposed to fit inside dispensers with the word ketchup written on the bag in sharpie. In case there was any doubt. Also, the place has bare concrete floors, metal shelving and none of the price tags match anything. For example, the bottles of weird ass shampoo with the crumbled bottoms will be labeled 'seafood 1.99.'

Which basically makes it the greatest grocery store ever.

Except for the bit where they play religious music all the time. Also the whole place is staffed by Mennonite women and girls, in their traditional plain dresses and those weird hat bonnet things.

No really, I am not making any of this up. This place is real and I bought a Mexican Cookie Assortment there.

Anyway. We were about done shopping but then Scott remembered that he wanted to check something in another section in that winding maze of overstuffed shelving and tired looking poor people, and I decided to wait by the cart, when my eyes trailed down an large shelf filled with chips, tortillas, jam, and popcorn to the bottom shelf. To where there sat something called a cookie assortment. From Mexico.

 This.

 I must have picked it up and put it back on the shelf at least three times. There was part of me that really knew that this thing was not good for me, another part that wanted to stuff cookies in it's a face, a small part that knew this was a bad idea, and a really big part that hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and was really aware of the fact it was like late afternoon.

So I get it home and we have dinner and I have a few cookies, and immediately I am struck by the fact that none of these things taste, well normal. Look, okay growing up in America as I did, when I see a frosted sandwich cookie with white filling, I expect it to taste like bland vanilla and chocolate. Not lemons. Never lemon. No. Also they had those sugar rectangle things, that were flavored, like, strawberries, but not the super fake oh-my-god-have-you-ever-had-a-real-strawberry flavor, but more like this is like you took all the wrong parts of the strawberry and stuffed it into this cookie. I swear that I could taste the strawberry seeds in those bitches.

 All of this is a flavor lie.

Yet, I was pretty okay with it on the whole. I was broadening my shitty prepackaged cheap ass cookie horizons. I was being cookie multicultural.

So fast forward to the next morning. For whatever reason, I woke up thinking that the whole world could just fuck itself. I was pissed the shit off at everything ever. Which meant that I got up, ate breakfast and then proceed to stuff cookies in my face like I was in some sort of self hatred based eating contest. Which seemed to help. Until afternoon, when my entire intestinal track got word of what I had done.

And it was not happy about it.

At that point, huddled into a bloated crampy ball in front of my computer monitor I found myself wondering what on earth made me think that eating a shit ton of low priced Mexican cookies was a great idea.

At that point, I decided that the Internet was not doing enough to distract me from the internal war going on between the forces of Holly's innards and the Mexican cookie troops, so I decided to reread the Hunger Games.

At this point, I probably should not have trusted any more of my decisions, because if there is one book you should probably not read while bloated all to shit on fake ass south of the border cookies, it's the Hunger Games.

Which is how I ended up having some sort of cookie based mental breakdown in the bathroom while clutching the Hunger Games.

Suzanne Collins would be so proud.*

*Author of the Hunger Games.