Dream a Little Dream of Me

   I finally got the guts to post a video of me singing. This is the start of a series to help me get my voice out to the public and start branding myself as a performer. The bad news is that I'm posting it in my blog because I'm too chicken s*** to post the video directly to my Facebook page. I'm a stickler for people just coming to see me perform live rather than posting a crappy video that doesn't do my voice any justice. It's because I'm my own worst critic. I'll cry you a river sometime.
   The quality is really terrible because I have a crappy PC and I have no idea how to manipulate the sound without getting all kinds of feedback. You'll also notice a very irritating whooshing noise coming from my laptop's vent. I guess it's time to take a can of WD-40 to that bad boy. If anyone has tips and tricks to better the sound quality of my videos, please enlighten me. Pretty please. I've spent 2 hours trying to make this video somewhat good. I've been a singer the majority of my life, but I feel like I'm only as good a singer as the quality of my videos. It's depressing me. Seriously.

Why I Can't Have Nice Things

  My behavior the last few days has just proven to me that I can't have nice things. NOTE: This post is only explaining why I can't have nice things, not that I don't have nice things. I have lots of nice things (that I'm surprised are still intact), but that's besides the point. I really hope that you find this as humorous as I do. I'm overdue for a blog post rife with dry, self-deprecating humor that demonstrates the farcical circumstances that make up my every day life.

I like saying smart stuff.

But really, I can't have nice things because...

1. I knocked Santa over with my ear buds. Poor Santa.

Please don't ask me why we have a Santa Claus candy dish year-round.

2. I can't even take care of my 4 year-old EnV2. Notice the broken hinge. The speaker doesn't work because I dropped it off my bunk bed at school. The pound key doesn't work either.

3. I have a potty mouth. Anyone with such an ineloquent vocabulary surely doesn't deserve nice things.
4. My room looks like a storage unit.

Looking at this give me a headache.

Notice the box of shoes. Just notice it.

DISCLAIMER: This isn't the nice pretty Hollywood room at my dad's house. This is a 10 year-long redecorating procrastination nightmare that is currently housing all of my college stuff and tons of miscellaneous crap. And more stuffed animals.

I don't know which is more horrifying, the fact that I still have stuffed animals, or that headboard.

5. My car is also a disaster.

Don't kid yourself. Your car is a mess, too.

6. ...of my bank account. #collegekidproblems #yesihashtaggedablogpost #dontjudge

7. I have one year-old dorm dust remaining on my laptop from Smith Hall. 'Nuff said.

You can barely see it... but it's there!

8. ...of this face.

And that hair.

And finally...

9. Because apparently my picture-taking skills are still in the Myspace phase.

I feel it's all the funnier to leave it sideways.

Short Post About a Nice Guy Who Didn't Get Permanently Stuck in the Friend Zone

  The best thing I ever did was give the nice guy a chance. I took a risk and went out on a date with a confident, intelligent, fun guy who I had known for years (and secretly wanted for a long time).

  I had chewed out and said my goodbyes to the "bad boy" (who I had also wanted for a little while) who strung me along because he wasn't interested in anything more than fooling around after he told me he was still talking to his ex. I had had enough. I already had been given the heave-ho by another guy I was with for two years for another woman, and now this idiot thought he could two-time me (For a second time. Don't even get me started.). I was irate, but at the same time relieved. I was free. Free from my curiosity of what would never have been. I no longer felt the need to get this lost cause out of my system lest it cause me to take a good guy for granted. It was over before it began. So I took the plunge and took the nice guy out of the friend zone and went on a date with him.

  The best friend guy is everything I never knew I wanted in a guy. He loves me unconditionally, but he likes me. He's secure enough to value my independence and doesn't complain that I'm not needy enough (That's a huge peeve of mine. Why would you want a woman who depends on you to make decisions and do everything all the time? That's not laying the pressure on yourself too heavy or anything.). He always encourages me to grow as a person and to constantly challenge myself and improve. He appreciates my flaws and doesn't complain about the ways that I fall short as a human being (and that's saying a lot considering that I screw up a lot). He's honest with me, too. He doesn't lie or keep secrets from me (also another peeve of mine). And yeah he's pretty handsome, too.

  Two and a half years later I've been with the same wonderful guy, and it's been the most fulfilling relationship I've had the privilege to be half of. We've had some challenges, like my moving across the state for college, but we've both grown as people as has our relationship. I can only hope the rest of the female population catches on and finds their other half like I did.

Goodbyes Are Always the Hardest

  I lost my best friend today, my poodle Ginger. Her health had started deteriorating rapidly a week and a half ago. She had an enlarged heart and while she was doing well on medication and diuretics, her health took a turn for the worst last night and she began suffering from edema of the lungs near the point of suffocation. She kept my mom up all night last night gasping for breath. Rather than take her to the emergency vet again and put her in a stressful situation and possibly cause a heart attack, my mom waited until our veterinarian's office was open and decided to put her to sleep somewhere she would be comfortable. We had a very kind and friendly vet who treated Ginger very well, so she was never scared or anxious at her appointments. Her health was so deteriorated and her breathing so labored that all she needed was a sedative. She went very peacefully in my mom's lap. I'm really sad that I couldn't be there in her last moments, but I'm glad she isn't in pain anymore.
  There are so many things Ginger taught me about life and love in such a short time. I really learned some of the most important things just by watching her be a dog. It's funny how our pets have that effect on us. I learned to enjoy the little things in life. I learned that true beauty comes from your happiness within, your essence, and not solely from your appearance. Most importantly, I learned unconditional love.
  Ginger was one individual who really knew how to live in the moment. I'd take her to the dog park and she would just go to town taking in all the smells and sights. She loved to frolic. Watching her wander and sniff the ground around her, occasionally stopping to look up and wag her little stubby tail (or her nub, as we called it) at us if we called out to her was just the cutest thing to watch. Let her wander around outside and she was happy. It was comical to watch her play with her toys all by herself. She would toss them around and trot around the living room floor and growl and grumble at them like she was a little child making up dialogue between herself and her little buddy. Then after she would shake them silly, she would proudly trot off dragging her toy alongside her to her retreat under the computer desk, thrilled with her victory.
  She was well-traveled, too. We took her on almost all the family vacations to Tennessee, Georgia, and she even came to Tallahassee when my family came to see me in The Rocky Horror Show. She always enjoyed a good car ride, especially when it took her to her Grammy's house. We all knew it was because Grammy spoiled her rotten. However, she did not enjoy her car seat, in part because it didn't allow her to stick her head outside the window and smell the open air. It also kept her from jumping to the front seat and into my mom's lap.
  It's funny how dogs never have self-image issues like humans do. They could be the goofiest, ugliest looking things in the world and be the happiest creatures put on the earth. Before my mom caved and finally started investing in a groomer, Ginger always won the award for "Worst Haircut" by a landslide. She continued to enjoy being a dog just the same. Even when she put on a few pounds with age, it never stopped her from enjoying her food. She enjoyed a wide culinary variety. Everything from cheeseburgers to spaghetti to cannoli filling. She even indulged in my mom's wine once, we discovered one night when we came home to find my mom's wine goblet tipped over with a few drops of leftover white wine pooled in the side. Ginger also learned the pains of a bad hangover the next day when she spent the entire day sprawled out on the couch sleeping. But I think her favorite was the whole cheeseburger she would have all to herself on her birthday. She got older and rounder, but never stopped eating like a puppy.
  The most important thing Ginger taught me was unconditional love. She must have seen me go through hundreds of good days, bad days, crying spells, fits of rage, breakups, sick days and you name it in the last eleven years and yet she never thought any less of me. She was around when I would get ready for shows and dates, she would be home to greet me when I came home. She didn't judge me when boredom caused me to uphold conversations with myself at home alone, and she didn't mind my living room karaoke sessions. She was there for a cuddle when I was sick, and she didn't mind me crying all over her fur when I got my heart broken by a boy. One morning after a really bad breakup, she stood outside my bedroom door whimpering for my mom to let her in so she could jump up on my bed and cheer me up. She was the Official Poodle Date Approval Department for every guy I've ever dated. She liked Patrick the most. She never held anything against me, or brought up my past wrongs. She loved me in spite of my many flaws.
  That's only the tip of the iceberg. As much as my heart hurts at this new empty space her passing has left behind, I know I will forever carry these things with me and always remember to be genuine because of her. So thank you, Ginger. Thank you for teaching me what's really important and for bringing our family such joy over your life. We will always remember you.

A POEM FOR THE GRIEVING...

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die...

-Anonymous