Naming Kids Bacon

Chelsea Handler. She's a goddess. A down right, comedic goddess built of half-Jewish pure awesomeness. I'm putting her on my list of people to aspire to be like. Not just for her blunt honesty, her fabulous humor or her ability to gain sex appeal through brutal hilarity directed at others' expenses but because I like that she can make people believe anything. I just finished reading "Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang" and think I'll invest in "Dear Vodka, It's Me Chelsea".

I'm not in Virginia at the moment, by the way. I'm in one of the guest rooms on the only floor of my grandparent's house down at Lake Wateree, South Carolina. My mother is across the hall sleeping off her antibiotics while I grapple with the new found knowledge that egg custard was not meant to be mixed with B&J Strawberry Daiquiris (which taste like strawberry jello) or their Fuzzy Navels (Which taste like orange and peach juice mixed with fun). Of course, mixing two alcoholic beverages, even of the effeminate variety, with my anti-anxiety meds isn't really on the list of things I should be doing in the first place. However, given that it powered me to finish the book, gain blackmail on my mother and be last the person awake in the house, I consider this a great management of my time and resources.

I discovered through a roundabout conversation involving taking my biological father to court over back due child support to the worth of 73 thousand dollars that not only do I inherit some of my facial features from my American-Indian ancestors from both sides of the family, but that my distaste for vodka and its hatred for my stomach lining is hereditary. My grandmother can't drink that swill either without losing her cookies, so it was nice to know I wasn't just slowly dissolving into a whiny thirteen year old girl. I just can't drink fermented potato alcohol, which is a fact of life I'm willing to accommodate.

This trip has been utterly spontaneous and worth the adventure so far. My mother nearly ran over a peacock last night. It was apparently crossing the road and she nearly swerved into a ditch avoiding the damn thing. I, upon initial hearing of the story, accused her of using LSD and not even offering to let me sell it for extra cash. Eventually we discovered somewhere along Rolling Hills Road hides a farm of several hundred peacocks owned by a man who has an obviously unhealthy love for the birds. I learned that not only is DJ, the small child of my heart, still a big admirer of mine but that he has a healthy fear of me I've worked years to instill. He told his mother that when I came to visit I could sleep in his bed with him. When she directed him to clean his room he responded with "Yeah, I know. Because if I don't Cynthia will beat me up!". I'm proud of the little guy. He learns pretty quick.

I've been put to work as a short order cook as well. My grandfather owns a restaurant at an equestrian park a mile passed I-20 down Cleveland School Road off of Black River called Mane Street. He has the best bar-be-que in the world and this is from a woman with legit soul-food cooking black women friends. Well, two of their workers cut out and I pitched in. I'm now trained to make a chicken quesadilla, cheese and double cheeseburgers, french fries, grilled cheeses, grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, BBQ sandwiches, and eat free homemade carrot cake. It was worth learning and spending a few hours working for free to eat that damn cake too. I also discovered that rich people are still jerks, and it doesn't matter where you are. I wish I would be here for when the Westerners came over, because these Yankee riders are obnoxious and unfriendly.

Not too shady for a single day's adventure. We almost ran over some overly large buzzards in the Tiburan because, obviously, that's the only thing to do when you're bored. Mom and I opted to replace my grandfather's Router for the simple fact we can't live without functioning wifi if we don't have to. I should say now that my grandaddy who has the restaurant is not the same one whose house I'm crashing in unannounced this weekend. Mom, JenJen (Who I call Grandma simply because I'm the only one who was trained to), and myself stayed up telling ridiculous stories about Buttersnakes, my brother, myself and my mother.

I've decided that my life is too hilarious sometimes to keep to myself and am contemplating exploiting the people I love by making a book of us at our most ridiculous and unsavory. There will be skewed details, there will be exaggerations, and there will be hilarity. At least in my opinion.

As a parting note, I'd simply like to state for the record that not only did my mom endorse naming my first child Bacon, she now has recruited other family members to expect this from me. I've agreed to allowing for it to be a suitable nickname, and my child will be raised to respond to it solely.

I bid you farewell, kind readers, for I will return who knows when and in God knows what condition next.

Ferrets, Haircuts and School

So, since the handful of people who do read this are my personal friends I'm going to go ahead and give a low down of the events of my life over the passed three weeks. Most of them revolve around my mom almost dying.

Twice.

So, my mom had a surgery and her doctor pushed for a spinal anesthetic. Which would have been dandy if it hadn't leaked her spinal fluid all over her internal organs and caused her blood pressure to drop to 75/48 post op. Her doctor, initially had said that she was fine. She was actually on oxygen for three hours because they couldn't get her to wake up. So, that was awesome times. She, about five days later, ended up back in the hospital. She hadn't been feeling well and had some issues that made the surgeon demand to see her. For a while we thought she had a perforated bowel.

She had an abscess about 9x6 centimeters in her gut that was blockading her stomach and intestines. That was also fabulous. The doctor said we were lucky she came in when she had. Our distant cousin had the same issue and had been hours from death by the time she'd gone in.

Due to the fact my family was in need of some assistance and I was over-stressed and miserable, I quit my job at XXI. So, I'm officially unemployed at the moment, but honestly, I'm pretty okay with it for the second. I wasn't focusing on school enough in my last semester and my anxiety has gone down tremendously since I left. Which is good. I'm still hanging out with Tim and going to Thursdays at Applebees. Life is pretty good now that there's next to no drama happening.

I'm still moving to Maine, it just may take me a little longer to get up there, which I'm not happy about. But I put on my big girl panties and made a decision and will deal with it however I have to. In between moving up there and now, though, David will be coming down to visit me. We met when I went up to visit, and I have to say, he's pretty freakin' wicked. I can't until he comes down to see me, because this long-distance thing is terrible when you can't touch the person you really want to.

The family also bought three ferrets, all boys, who are currently digging in my bed and annoying my dogs. They are Ninja, Stitch and Gizmo. I find them hilarious and adorable, though a bit monstrous in their attitudes.

So, that's a basic recap of my life. I'm off to pickup my room and hang my clothes while being attacked by carpet sharks. Stitch just knocked himself off the bed. So fuzzy. Oh, yeah, and I got my hair cut again. It came out shorter than I'd imagined, but it happens. After this I'm growing it back out. I sort of miss having enough hair to pull into a ponytail. I'm also a brunette for the time being.

Laters guys.