The reason I will never eat anything from Walmart again in this lifetime

It's not that the deli section is bad; on the contrary, they have pretty good food for pretty damn cheap. Every fiber of my college student being rejoices in this. The less money I have to spend on conveniently pre-cooked food that I don't have to turn on a stove for, the better. (I made dinner tonight and it was pretty good, though. I am impressed with myself.) Also, I am done eating at Taco Bell for the reason of it being cheap and filling. I hate fast food. Ugh.

Anyway... onto the reasoning.

Once upon a time when I was really hungry after not eating all day because I woke up late for my early class and  didn't eat breakfast because I spent too long putting in my contacts because it has been getting increasingly difficult for some reason... I went to Walmart with my mom and sister after I was done for the day. I sat in the backseat of the car, stomach crying out for nourishment after a long day of class, then studying, then more class and some practicing just waiting for my next meal. The idea then struck me that I was hungry for Chinese food. It must be that I think about eating Chinese food twice a day because it is my favorite out of all food nationalities. Also, there is a type of Chinese food for every kind of hunger besides like... gravy or cheese. (cheese hungers are brutal) I didn't want Panda Express because we used to eat it so incredibly often when my mom was married to her last husband so that was out of the question. Jumbo Buffet was way on the other side of town and doesn't have takeout. Beijing is kind of pricey, Dynasty is the same way, Ocean Palace is near Jumbo Buffet, Wok Inn is all the way in Stockton, and Wok King by my house closed. Other than those places, I don't know any of the other places in town and I just wanted something super cheap.

Walmart has a rendition of my favorite kind of Chinese... the kind that fit my hunger description. Three bucks. HAD TO HAVE.

WELL, if I had known what was going to happen I would have gone home and stuck my head in the toilet instead. I sauntered happily into Walmart, eyes aglow with anticipation, stomach singing L'Arie pour le Nourriture Chinoise, debit card smiling because it wasn't going to have all of its funds ripped out... it sounded like a fantastic thing was going to happen. I approached the deli counter, waited for the people with a BILLION children in front of me and eyeballed the glass case before me. They actually had it this time, unlike last time that I went there and had to settle for barbecue chicken or something. (side note: I just learned that barbecue is not spelled with a q. I always thought it was barbeque...) When it was finally my turn I stepped forward and said "Could I get a medium container of the General Tso's chicken please? I've been craving it all day!" I am usually this enthusiastic and chipper with everyone. I figure there's no point in being gloomy all the time. That makes me feel depressed. In fact, my customers at work oftentimes ask me if I am on something or what I had from the cafe. If they ask what I have from the cafe I say "Iced caramel macchiato with no whip. Would you like me to order one for you from the cafe? I can do that from my register, you know..." As a matter of fact, I usually look like this:

I think it is pretty accurate except my teeth are not that white. The only person on the earth who has teeth that white is Paula Dean.

I digress.

So I get my food, the lady behind the counter tells me to "eat up" since I said I have been starving all day, and I am about to skip merrily through the store to find my mother so we can go home... and then this lady who was standing there with her two small children and participating in the little purchasing banter says something along the lines of "are you having a baby?" because I said I had been craving it all day.

I don't ever recall being speechless. I always have something to say. At that point I had so little to say that I reverted into rudeness. I said something along the lines of "no.................................... but thanks for asking?" before walking away. I swear I blacked out I was so mad/embarassed/furious/sad/irate/confused. Of course my first thought was "do I look pregnant?" and then "Am I old enough to be pregnant?" and then "why the hell would you ask someone that??????" In the lady's defense she also said something along the lines of "because I used to crave stuff all the time when I was pregnant with this one here..." BUT ALAS... THE DAMAGE HAD BEEN DONE ALREADY. I thought it was common knowledge that the only reason you would ask someone if they are pregnant would be if they are approximately 8 months pregnant and look like they are smuggling a beach ball full of cocaine or something. My sister was dying about the whole thing too. I'm NEVER speechless. I can always think of something to say, even if it's just "yeah well you don't know what you're talking about you stupid person" or "I have nothing to say to that. Thanks." I walked down the aisles, my food in my hand, with absolutely no appetite to eat it anymore... or anything ever again, for that matter. Usually when I am offended or mad I smile and even laugh. This was the case. Smiling like I had just aced a theory final (maybe not THAT enthusiastic... I nearly pee myself when I get a B.) I strolled, looking for my mommy and listening to my sister snicker as I repeated "I can't believe that... I've never been so offended" over and over again. I looked a bit like this:

When we finally found my mom, she was in the greeting card aisle. I told her the whole story and she laughed. I then became so angry that I scarfed down ALL of the chicken except for two pieces and gave my mom the rest of it. I then proceeded to make snide remarks for the duration of the trip about how I was "too pregnant" to do stuff even though it's COMPLETELY IMPOSSIBLE. There is not one ounce of possibility to this whole situation... but I am dieting from now until forever.

Also, this will come in handy when it comes time to audition for Pirates of Penzance soon. I don't think I will get cast as Mabel because I don't believe I have the voice for it but I certainly don't look the part. She's supposed to be the prettiest of all the maidens but I am 9 feet tall so that makes things difficult and then I am not paper thin so there we go. Zero chance. If I eat nothing but saltines, celery, and water from now till auditions there may be a 1 in a hundred chance. I'LL TAKE IT.

No more Walmart deli food ever, though. No more saying "craving".
From now on it's Subway or nothing and using the term "hankering" instead.


Doggone, I sure have a hankerin' for some daggone Subway! Them city folks sure know how to make them sandwiches!


Blegh.

A hopeless addiction to Taco Bell

I mentioned already that Ruben and I are useless without each other... maybe I didn't put it in so extreme of terms but alas, c'est vrai. When we are apart we pine for one another. I can't sleep, Ruben can't stop drinking coke... it's a big mess.

I would think that there would be an abundance of fast food wrappers left strewn across the dining room table when I returned, which is sometimes the case, but mostly I note that ALL THE DISHES ARE WAITING IN THE SINK. Ruben is a little bit allergic to dishes like I am to dogs. He doesn't sneeze like I do, though. My sneezes have been increasingly ridiculous lately. They're a bit like this:

(Key: 0 = completely silent and likely dead, 1 = like a baby whispering, 2= library voice, 3= normal speaking tone, 4= something that may wake you from a nap, 5= something that would definitely wake you from a nap, 6= Dropping a cymbal, 7= LOUD NOISES!!!!, 8=Okay, this is scary now, 9= ridiculous, 10= the loudest thing ever)**

As you can see, my sneezes are louder than a lot of things I do.

Anyway, this post isn't supposed to be about my sneezes. It's supposed to be about friendship. Anyway... lots of dishes. What do we do when we have lots of dishes and neither Ruben nor I feel like washing them?

That's right. TACO BELL.

The people at the less-janky Taco Bell in Stockton know exactly who we are. We once went there and Ruben told the cashier that he wanted "lots of fire sauce; not like two." He said he wanted twenty. Well, I counted and we certainly didn't get 20. THIRTY FIVE FIRE SAUCES. Did he use all of them? Of course not. We did get a good laugh out of it, though.

So you may be asking yourself, why in the name of all things sacred do you choose Taco Bell? The answer is mainly that it's dirt cheap, covered in sour cream and cheese, and open late. I must say that I won't be eating it a lot from now on because I am going to be dieting for the rest of my liefffffffffff probably, but it is delicious when you have been working all day and are dying of starvation. Seasoned "meat", molten cheese, rice, beans, and a slathering of delicious sour cream all come together in a delicious harmony of faux Mexican delight. I mean... it sounds like a pretty good idea.

It all gets expensive after a while, though. I am a pretty cheap person to shop for. When I did my own shopping I could get away with spending $30 for two weeks and still have stuff left over. I wonder why I only lost a little weight this summer but whatever. I suppose I was making up for all I wasn't eating at my house with what I was eating at the Taco Bell on March lane. Also, I work at Barnes and Noble and that cafe has some amaziiiing food.

But yeah. I will be going back to Stockton tomorrow and I can see Taco Bell in my near future... even though I've sworn twice that I wasn't going to eat it again.

** I would like to add that I have knowingly exaggerated these results for dramatic effect... because I'm dramatic and this is my blog, dammit.

The imagination is mightier than the sword (unless it's a lightsaber-sword)

I found out I had the power to write in fifth grade. I rediscovered the proof while cleaning, as a matter of fact.

I remember when it became apparent to my teacher that I had the ability to write. I wrote a book for class about a girl who gets lost when her family goes camping near a waterfall and she meets a dragon. The dragon takes her away to a magical land and tells her that their kingdom has been in need of a princess but however Sierra tries (that's the girl's name, by the way) she can't make herself leave her family so the dragon takes her back but no one even knew she was missing.

The end.

It wasn't like her family forgot about her or anything. It was the magic of the dragon who controlled time or something. I think it is a very well developed story for a fifth grader. I even illustrated the book... not that I am a spectacular artist as you can see by my renderings. I will upload a picture one of these days when I stumble across it again.

I have embarked on several writing excursions since this fifth grade discovery. (I even discovered that I was good at graphic design in fifth grade. I designed the diplomas for our graduation! I even sang at graduation. It's like all of my talents came together at once in fifth grade... but I digress...) Most of my excursions have involved fanfiction because I am a nerdnerdnerd. I took on a challenge to write 100 short stories based upon any one character or grouping from Harry Potter (I chose the Malfoys because I believe they were not properly developed in the books. Yes, I know what should have been written because I am better than JKR </sarcasm>) and I almost finished.

Harry Potter deals with magic.
To write convincingly about something you have to have some sort of experience/knowledge of what you're writing about.
I write about Harry Potter.

By the transitive powers of my logic times the square root of imagination to the nth power I believe I have magical powers.

It's all about being imaginative.

Here is an illustration of my powers.

As you can see the power of my imagination I was able to create a magical fantasy world where people can ride miniature bracheosauruses (or however you would go about spelling that) on clouds. And you can tell that is me by the blonde hair, viking helmet, and choice of dinosaur companion.

Everyone can have magical powers if you believe in them. Other people may think you're crazy though.

My siblings talk to me most when I'm trying to talk to other people

What the subject line says is true: my siblings prefer to talk to me when I am trying to talk on the phone.

This has always made it very difficult for me to talk to anyone, particularly male friends that I may be interested in, on the phone in the house if they happen to be there too. Sometimes I can get away with it if I am on the phone when I shut myself in my room but if I show my blonde self in the main part of the house it becomes a community conversation. I get things like "ask Kelly this" or "tell Ruben I hate him" or anything else, really. The background noise automatically becomes louder, Patrick breaks out in a loud, high singing voice, Tia has a million things to ask me... it's truly a mess.

I do not go into the main part of the house with a phone glued to my head to talk to everyone in the damn house. Sometimes I need a drink of water. Sometimes I need my phone/computer charger. Sometimes I get tired of looking at dirty laundry and want to sit on the dog-hair coated couch. I should not have to turn myself into a hermit who stays in her batcave all day when I pick up my phone.... which is very frequently.

This is a pretty accurate portrayal of how it feels when I am on the phone with my siblings around:

Tia: "hey look listen!!!"

Patrick: "Does your friend like creamed corn? Do they like sausage? Do they have Taco Bell in other countries? LOOK AT ME!!!!"

Basically, my siblings like my attention but only when I am offering it to other people. Otherwise they won't talk to me for days on end.

Purposes and the Tale of the Roach

I've always wanted to start a blog and keep up with it. I want it to be a place for me to get things out either that I think are funny or I need to get off my chest.

So I will start with funny.

My best friend ever since my freshman year of high school has been a young man by the name of Ruben. We have had our share of arguments and falling-outs but at the end of the day we're friends again. So here we are, six years later, and we're basically living together. It was that I would spend more time at my apartment than his but now the thing is that I am staying with him on the weekends while I work and then I commute to the town where my mom lives about 45 minutes away.

So I think this story began with Ruben seeing some sort of creepy crawlie while I wasn't there. We began to tell stories about finding a giant roach sitting on the couch when we returned watching TV or standing in the kitchen cooking dinner... stupid stuff. In reality I think this would happen:

We would be out of there faster than a Kenyan in the 50 yd dash. 

I'm not sure why this idea is so hilarious but we talk about it all the time. Imagine you go to get in your car and there is a giant roach sitting in the front seat, smoking a cigarette and listening to Ke$ha. It would startle you, no doubt, and you would likely have to see some special people in white coats for many years after. In fantasy, the image is hilarious; in reality I would have an aneurysm

.