Sunday, September 14, 2008

Too much of a prude

Seriously, it's been too long since I've updated this blog. This is my third attempt at starting this story. I feel as though I've lost my natural knack for blogging. Such a sad realization that is.
I have some whorish tendencies. I'll be honest with myself, if I have too much to drink, and someone is willing, I'll make out with you. I know, so sad, but so true. I draw the line there though. I don't want to get pregnant or anything. Sometimes though, I feel as though I should loosen my morales and just have some fun. I really hope I'm making some of you uncomfortable with this post. Ok, by sometimes, I actually mean in the specific situation I'm faced with right now.
So here's the predicament I'm in. There's a certain someone, someone that I used to date...I think some of you may know who I'm writing about. Feel proud of yourself if you do. If you don't, I'll give you a clue. There was a post about a year ago about my underwear being washed by this person's grandma. Chanel your inner Sherlock Holmes, I'm not about to spell this one out for you. Mainly because I can't remember if this person has my blog address. That may make for an interesting conversation later...
I'm trying to focus now, and not go off on any more tangents. For the sake of this post, we'll refer to the person as A, simply because his name is andy. A and I have reconnected after a few months of not being on the best of terms. He has made it clear that he doesn't want a relationship right now. He has good reasons for it, and it isn't a snub to me, he just doesn't want one in general...or so he says. Now, I'm not one to sleep with someone I'm not in a relationship with. Ok, I'll sleep with you if we're speaking the strictly plutonic sense of the word, but that's not the implication that I meant. No lies in this post, I do still have feelings for him, which he knows. I just don't really want to allow those feelings to come to the surface too much, knowing that nothing will come from it right now. At the same time, I have no desire to date anyone else right now either.
So, do I just do the deed? The feelings are already there, and aren't going away. I could become a tramp for awhile and live with that. Or, do I just live like a monk like I have been for the last...not willing to mention how long? I think I may have shared too much on this, but whatevs. Give your imput. I don't like to make decisions.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Maybe I'll get back into this

So, I've been slacking for awhile on my blogs. I haven't really been inspired, I guess. Now, I just want a diversion. Who knows, I may come back in full force again with fun little stories about my screwed up life. Only time will tell. Keep checking.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Screw People

More often then not, I love my job. Sometimes I get fed up with dealing with people, and want to tell them how I feel because they're so stupid. Today, I had to deal with something I've never had to deal with before, and hoped to never have to deal with; dog fighting.
For the most part, I try to see the good in people. I may come across as stuck up and calloused, but for the most part, I like people. However, there are certain situations that make me sick to my stomach and make me wonder what the hell is going on in people's sick, twisted minds to inflict pain and suffering on others to the extent that they do.
My day was going along normally, when we got a phone call from someone saying they had just picked up a dog from the bad part of town that they thought was hit by a car. Under no circumstances do I want people to think that the man who brought the dog in was somehow involved in anything that happened. He happened to be in the area, and came across a dog that was in a bad situation.
As soon as the dog got to us, it was obvious that he was used in fights, most likely as the bait dog, and the owners didn't want to use him anymore because he was so badly injured. I've seen a lot of horrible things with animals in the past, but nothing as bad as how this dog looked when he came in. I almost threw up when I saw him because I knew what had happened, and felt so bad for him.
We did what we could to make it comfortable before I called 911. I knew it was pointless to call, but part of me hoped that possibly, someone would have enough of a heart to at the very least go to the area he had been picked up from to investigate. The dispatcher was symapthetic and put a page into animal control telling them to call me, since it was after hours. She sounded like she really cared, and hoped to do as much as she could too. Turns out, animal control doesn't care. The dog didn't make it, and no one has to suffer any consequences for it.
Fuck that. I considered calling the news station to let them know how I felt about our laws that do absolutly nothing to protect those who don't have voices. I knew it would probably result in me losing my job, but still feel like I should do it. I know that even if the police did investigate, nothing would come of it. The dog had no identification on him, was likely dumped in an area far from where the owners live, and if by some odd twist of fate, they were caught, they wouldn't spend time in jail because jails are overcrowded with worse offenders.
What has come of the world today? Michael Vic...or whatever the hell that assholes name is, is still considered a hero because he's a celebrity. People excuse him because that's they way he was brought up, and cruelty to animals still exists because people can make bets on them and make money. My hope is that every person who ever has taken part in either raising a dog for fighting, or gone to a dog fight, some day has the dog turn on them, and attack them. I've had more then my fair share of dog attacks, and let me tell you, they suck. I just hope that when these dogs do turn on the assholes that feed off of this kind of bullshit, they go for the jugulars, and their family and friends give them the same kind of compassion they give to their dogs, and leave them bleeding on the side of the road. Karma's a bitch.

Saturday, December 08, 2007


I appologize in advance to anyone who may think I'm making fun of their scabies infestations. I know it's not a laughing matter, I've been exposed many times through work...don't want to talk about it, but never had an outbreak. However, sometimes the simplest solution means making a fool of yourself.
I went out after my show last night. I'm not for picking someone up at a bar. I know, I'm too classy for my life. It just isn't something I'll ever do. I need to get to know someone before I'll start dating. However, I always get hit on at the gay bars. I don't understand it. I'm not really attractive, and I'm definitly not easy, so I don't know why I always find the trolls when I go there.
Last night, after my show, I went to the bar with a few friends. I had been there no more then ten minutes before someone came up to our table to let me know that his friend wanted to talk to me, but was too shy to do it. Aww, how sweet. A few minutes later, one of my other friends showed up, and when he was filled in on the drama that was starting to unfold, was able to correctly identify the "shy" boy who wanted me to talk to him. Nice try Josh.
Anyhow, Josh came over to talk to my friends while I was sitting there a few minutes later. All I wanted to do was have a night out singing karaoke with my friends. I wasn't looking for someone to go home with. I'm a good Christian boy, afterall. He introduced himself to me, like I didn't already know his name, and he didn't know mine already. Awkward, but whatever.
A few minutes later, I needed another beer. Katie and I went to the bar and left Brooke at the table. We were stuck in the line for a few minutes, and when I looked over to check on Brooke, I saw Josh talking to her. Great. She told me that he told her to put in a good word for him. She apparently told him I had just got out a long relationship and that I wasn't looking to get into another one at the time. When that didn't work, she tried to tell him that I was dating her. Signs of a good friend really.
When she told me what he had said, and explained her unsuccessful attempts to get him to leave me alone, I told her to tell him I just wasn't interested and that I have scabies if he talked to her again. It was a joke; the scabies aspect, that is. I should have known better.
A few minutes later, he came back to our table. I wish I could remember the conversation word for word, because I will always admire Brooke for her ability to bring up my scabies in a conversation, and making it work, without making it look like she was trying to scare someone off. She did it beautifully. The look on Josh's face made the entire night worth while. I scratched myself for effect. Josh ran away, and I thought everything was fine.
Turns out Brooke, or P.J. Sparkles, as her karaoke name was, was due to sing shortly after. She sang the classic Bonnie Rait(don't crucify me for spelling her name wrong) song, "I Can't Make You Love Me" and dedicated it to me. It was sweet and heartfelt, until the end. Something came over her, and she said, into the microphone, "I love you Scott, and the scabies."
Turns out all of Saginaw now thinks I have scabies...I don't, in case you're confused. I appreciated the effort. Not everyone will make up an STD for you to have in order to scare someone off. That's how you know who your true friends are.
At the end of the night, Josh came back to our table to say goodbye to everyone. Everyone, but me. He started to walk out, and I decided to have a little fun. I called his name, and said, "Josh, it was really good to meet you." He looked a little horrified, when I extended my hand to shake his, but since he was gloved, decided he was good to go. He didn't even ask for my number, which I don't understand. I mean, there is treatment for scabies.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

One of those days.

I hate it when I wake up in the morning and feel like I should just stay in bed because I have a feeling it's going to be a bad day. I hate it because I'm always right when I think that. Yesterday, I had that feeling, but I had to get to work, so I got up, and began to dread what I knew would be a bad day.
This story actually started last week. I like to crochet. I'm doing a show, where I have a lot of downtime, so I decided to make myself a lovely scarf when I'm not onstage. It's become the cast joke of who gets the scarf when I'm done with it, because I don't normally keep anything I've made for myself. Things turned ugly, and I somehow got death threats from two of the people over my scarf. Needless to say, they were quickly moved down on my list of people I want to give my scarf to.
Anyhow, I got ready for work yesterday, and no major incidents occured. Maybe I was just thinking too much, and it would be a good day after all. I drove to work. I was about half way there, when I noticed the wind was making a lot of noise blowing under my car, and blowing my car to the center of the road. Oh Michigan winters. That's when I realized that the wind wasn't actually blowing. Huh? I continued to drive, and then realized there was something wrong with my car. A mile later, I realized I had a flat tire. Yeah, I'm not too bright.
Now, I get flat tires all the time. Normally one or two a year. I'm not really sure why, but I always find the one nail in the middle of the road and run it over. The good thing about that is that I know how to change a tire really quickly. I pulled into the 7-11, and went to get my spare and jack out of my trunk. Great, for some reason, the lock on my trunk is stuck. I figured i would deal with my tire after work, and called my sister to see if she was on her way to work and could give me a ride. She didn't answer. I called work to see if anyone there could come get me, no answer. Great.
So, here it is, quarter to 8 in the am, and I have to walk the rest of the way to work. Mind you, it was only about a half mile, but I have never been so cold in my life. There are no sidewalks the first quarter mile, so I had to truck through 2 foot deep snowdrifts. I could see the sidewalk looming in front of me, and I realized no one had bothered to shovel. The sidewalk was under a good two inches of ice. The only good thing about this story is that I didn't fall on the ice.
I had to call my parents when I got to work to make sure someone could give me a ride home after work. I felt like such a child. Everyone made fun of me.
I decided to change my tire this morning, since I didn't get out of work till after dark last night. I still didn't have a jack, so I borrowed my sister's. Turns out, hers was too high for my car, so I had to drive all the way across town, to my mom's work to get hers. I got the car up, and the tire wouldn't come off. I went home to get a hammer, thinking I could loosen the tire with that. No luck. I waited for my dad to get out of work, to see if he could help me, and nothing. My brother in law tried to get it off, and it was still stuck. Only in my life.
At this point, I had to get to my rehearsal, so I left and called a tow truck to get my car in the morning. I'll let the professionals get my tire off. I got to the show, and lost my voice. I mean lost it like I've never lost it before. My throat doesn't hurt, it's just that it all of a sudden will stop working when I'm singing, with no warning. Kind of odd.
So that was my day today. Earlier in the week, I was so excited to have the day off. I literrally haven't slept a full night in almost 4 months now. The most sleep I've been able to get in a night was 6 hours, and only get 3-4 hours about 90% of the time. I really needed a day to sleep and rest. No such luck. I think I'm about to lose it, but whatever. How was everyone else's day?

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Unanswered Prayers

Just the other night, at a home town football game...If you can finish that sentence, without looking up the words online first, you'll earn serious bonus points with me. Oh Garth. If only I'd known how relavent your song would be to me, 10 years later.
Listen to the song, think about my life, and then tell me how stupid I've been the last few months. It's okay, I can take it. Wow, sometimes I feel like an idiot, and I've been feeling like one for the last few days when I realized how stupid I was for caring about someone who only cares about themself. Good ridence. I'm ready to move on and be happy.
That's it for tonight. I'll write a fun post once something funny happens and I'm not so tired.

Monday, November 26, 2007

My Obvious Eating Disorder

I'm thin, and I can't help it. Anyone who has seen me eat, knows that I can put away food like no other. I just can't gain weight. Perhaps I have worms, I don't know. What has really been bothering me a lot lately is the amount of comments I've been getting from people about how they're concerned I'm anorexic.
Mind you, I haven't been loosing weight, if anything, I've gained some, but for some reason, the last year or so, I've got a lot of comments from a lot of different people saying they're concerned about me being anorexic. I've had enough people comment on it that I myself got concerned that maybe I do have an eating disorder and didn't realize it. So, I did what any responsible person would do, and started counting my calories to make sure I am eating enough. Turns out that a typical day for me consists of anywhere from 2500-3000 calories. Like I said, I can eat a lot.
Part of the problem is that I don't even try to defend myself anymore when someone accuses me of it. People already have their mind made up about it, so let them think what they want.
Last night, while I was eating, someone told me he thinks I'm anorexic. Right, because I'm holding a plate loaded with food, obviously I am. I don't understand the double standard here. I would never tell someone they're fat, but it's okay to accuse someone of having a disease that could be life threatening. Plus, I don't think I look anorexic. Yeah, I'm skinny, but I'm not that skinny that I would think people would think I don't eat. Maybe I am though and should start eating Crisco in hopes of putting on some weight. More likely though, I'm just not going to worry about it and bitch slap the next person who asks me about my eating disorder.