... and to all a good night.

To the one who held me when I was a baby, and called me his yella rose.

                                                            Merry Christmas, I miss you.

To the one who makes me angry, but still has stories to tell me.

                                                            Merry Christmas, I love you.

To the one who still takes care of me, cause I’m his baby girl.

                                                            Merry Christmas, I love you, and I reply to texts when you aren’t being annoying.

To the one I yell at far too often,

                                                            Man the fuck up, it’s Christmas!

To the one who hides when things get hard.

                                                            I love you, I look up to you, and honesty is the best policy hun. Also, you missed beer Santa, that was me tonight.

To the one I tried to build a life with, but the blocks were all wrong.

                                                            Merry Christmas, I want to shake you future wife’s hand and kiss the foreheads of your future children. They will be awesome. I’m sorry.

To the ones in a place closer, but still far away.

                                                            It’s the same state; I’ll try harder if you do. And please, if you don’t want to be in my life, don’t lead me on.

To the one who always comes through when I need her, and sometimes when I don’t.

                                                            I love you, I am so proud of you. You will rock Mexico’s face off. Merry Christmas.

To the one I fought with, and still have a stupid amount of respect for.

                                                            I love you, we were meant to be sisters. Don’t fight so hard, we love you; we are all stupid brats though.

To the one who used to be the biggest brat in the world.

                                                            Nice looks good on you, you are growing into an amazing woman. I love you, Merry Christmas.

To the one I drank with tonight.

                                                            Do not put the moves on your wife when I am in bed with you. It’s gross and unless you are going to make me another niece or nephew, I don’t need to know about it. Also, I love you. And I look up to you a lot.


To the one who married my monkey butt brother.

                                                            Mad respect. You are a bad ass, you are also incredibly wise. So glad you are in my family, also glad you like me. I know I am hard to swallow. (raspberry) see what I did there?

To the one who learned more from me than I ever cared to teach.

                                                            You did good with me; I just didn’t like female authority. It was teenage angst. You are a wonderful person. Merry Christmas.

To the one who waited on me to move away before she ever got drunk.

                                                            It was probably for the best, we would’ve made out. I miss you, Merry Christmas.

To the ones that enriched my childhood.

                                                            Peer pressure is bad, we should drink again soon. I’ll try not to fall asleep on my face next time.

To the one who is learning about me.

                                                            I’m a brat, I’m irrational. But I’m funny and I will call you dude at the most unattractive times. Merry Christmas, we need to get smashed together. I’ll find a DD.

To the one who makes me sad and happy at the same time.

                                                            It’s not the same; I know that it never will be. You break my heart every time I see you. I love you, and I will be brave one day. I just hope I don’t wait too long. You have so many stories to tell me.

To the one that I can’t figure out, and I’m not sure if I want to.

                                                            I laugh to myself when I read your Facebook posts. You need to grow a pair and not be shady.

To the ones that read this every time I post.

                                                            You make me happy, if I could high five you I would. If you tell me in person that you read this, I will. Comment though. I like feedback. I will make this better if you tell me how. Merry Christmas.

To the ones that read this but don’t want to tell anyone.

                                                            I’m sorry, I would be ashamed too. Merry Christmas.

To the one(s) that read this and then judged me and talked about it with people I like to consider my friends.

                                                            You suck, and I hope you die in an AIDS fire.

To the one that lives, but I have yet to met, or to acknowledge, or realize.

                                                            I love you, and I want to spend every Christmas with you for the rest of my life. The rest starting after 24, I’m crazy and you wouldn’t love me right now.

Merry Christmas MOTHER FUCKERS!

Who is the white trash judge?

This is me coming to terms with the fact that I might be a little white trash. I mean, I smoke, I drink, and I am from Beggs. So it was almost an understood thing. But today, oh today, I discovered that I like press on nails. And I will wear lipstick to hide the fact that I haven’t washed my hair in a few days (damn hot water heater!)

I guess I’m more than okay with it, ok. That’s a lie; I might blog and know a lot of stuff about opera. And I might even be the “Ted Mosby” of my friends, but I still like country music, and cheap beer, and drinking outside around a fire. I feel like I am the most awkward medium of things. There is no happy medium; I have an alter ego that is a hardcore, white trash, ho. Wanna fight about it?

I may or may not be a tad bit drunk. Its been too long since I have had a drunken post. I feel like they are the most honest ones I come out with. The other ones are delicately censored. (Cue laughter) I keep getting distracted by things on the internet. I really shouldn’t its after midnight and nothing good ever happens on the internet after midnight.

Working the overnight shift has really fucked with my head. Its always awake when its dark. The good news is that I get to text good morning texts to everyone. I’m off all this week. I went grocery shopping today, getting my hurr did tomorrow, and cleaning. Then Wednesday I am cooking for boy and the roommate. BEEF STEW BITCHES!

There is no moral to this story, only ramblings… Nothing too interesting has happened this week. It’s been chill, but hell it’s Tuesday morning. Mondays suck anyway.

But really, do press on nails make me white trash?

Droppin' Bombs (of the F and Vegas variety)

Two days ago, I started the evening with plans to go to Buffalo Wild Wings with the sister and the boy. That in itself would have been a fantastic evening. But it was also karaoke night. And not just karaoke for fun, there was also a contest. Also, after 2 beers someone bought me a shot of Jim Beam. This night was on a fast track to awesome, and the conductor was just looking to start a fight.

So we get there, and I’m pretty excited about life. We hear a few people sing, I judge them mercilessly, and then I sign up. The ladies running the show ask me if I want to sign up for the contest, I could win $100, I do and I totally scoff at them offering me a warm up song.

Come back, sit down. Smoke about 3 cigarettes, drink a few beers. Take that awful shot of Jim Beam. The contest is about to start, they say they are going to do a few dance songs. This one rap song that I don’t know, but it has a pretty sweet line dance along with it, starts playing. Small group of young people get up to dance, and so does this one white-haired old woman. Like seriously in her 60’s, tacky Christmas sweater and all. Gets out there and endangers her health to get her groove on. I nearly pissed myself. So the contest starts. Few decent people sing. I start getting nervous. So I drink more, and I smoke more. Fast forward through mediocre singing, my little sister and this guy named John totally murdering “A Whole New World”. It’s the next to last song, they had flashed through the line up, so I knew I was last. Guy gets up there to sing “Sweet Caroline”, totally killed it, lots of crowd involvement with the “Bah Bah Bah’s” and the “So good’s”, he totally set me up to kill it.

Now keep in mind, most of the performers danced all around the bar. Totally trying to work the crowd. Props to them, I can see where they needed the extra help. So I get up there. Adjust the mic stand. And just stand perfectly still. Soft piano leads me in. “Turn around.” “Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you never come around.” The crowd goes a little bit crazy, but they don’t know what I’m going to do. It grows eerily quiet. “Turn around.” “Every now and then I get a little bit terrified, I see the FUCKING look in your eyes.” Everyone eats it up! I mean, I am obviously not modest about my vocal talents, if you were only good at one thing you wouldn’t be shy either. So between my bad ass vocal skills, the white person soul I am infusing this song with, and a fucking F-word, I think I put on a pretty good show. By the time “And I need you now tonight, I fuckin’ need you more than ever” rolls around I have left the mic stand and I’ve started to really get into it, because that’s just how you sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart”.

I mean seriously after it was over, people chanted. I have no idea what they were saying, but they were being loud and it felt awesome. I knew that cash was mine. So I work the crowd a little bit, I had seen a few people I went to high school with, so I talked to them. Accepted high fives and handshakes from a few fans.  They say they are going to play a few dance songs, then announce the winner. The judges were the ladies running the karaoke stand. From what my friend had told me, the contest was rigged, and they only pick their friends. I was still pretty confident that I was going to win.

Songs are over; they announce the 1^st place winner first, because they got the choice between $100 and tickets to a lame basketball game. “And the winner is…” Some bitch named Megan. I mean I know her, so she’s not really a bitch, but come on. Who sings “Broken Wing” at a fucking bar?! I’m sure there were at least 3 women who were beaten by drunken lovers after leaving that place. I didn’t win shit. I yelled, and cussed, and probably offended someone. I was UPSET! But then that same friend that told me it was rigged bought me a Vegas Bomb. I fucking love Vegas Bombs. So shot number 2 down the hatch. Few more beers, few more smokes.  Dance a little bit. Sing “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”, boy sings “Friends in Low Places” his friend sings “Chicken Fried” I am having a good time. Shot number 3 happens. I am really feeling good, and I’m getting sassy. I don’t remember specifics because that was two days ago, but I do remember yelling at someone for making a remark about Oklahoma being part of the south. “WE DID NOT SECEDE!!” So me and Shyann get up to sing “Don’t Stop Believing”, we are totally killing it, and the bitches cut us off! I have no idea why, they said something about the mics, but I flipped them both off and started running my mouth. Whiskey does mean things to me, so I was really actually ready to fight these bitches. I mean I love Adele as much as the next person, but how can anyone cut off a drunken performance of “Don’t Stop Believin” to do a shitty, soul-less rendition of “Rolling in the Deep”? I was fighting mad, and this is the first time I have ever met two of Boy’s friends. I’m smashed and I am talking all colors of trash to these women, not to their faces though, because I’m a lady.

So we leave before I start getting really belligerent, and also because I’ve realized that I have nearly smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. The moral of the story, is I am a sore loser, and shots are wonderful. Or awful, depending on who you are.

Dear Santa,

Things I would like for Christmas:

1.             A pair of black skinny jeans.

2.             A denim shirt.

3.             A decent pair of boots.

4.             Cute heels.

5.             Legs that looked good with heels.

6.             A nose ring.

7.             Endless good hair days.

8.             A dressy Christmas party to go to.

9.             A cute dress to wear to said party.

10.         A pair of long leather gloves.

11.         A working flat iron.

12.         One of those cute oversized berets.

13.         A new tattoo.

14.         To see my big sister. (I miss her so)

15.         At least 3 new pairs of flats

16.         Feet that don’t sweat so much.

17.         A real bed.

18.         To have the time and $ to decorate my room. Its real sad.

19.         A manicure.

20.         The cure to hangovers.

I really do love Christmas, I enjoy the giving part even. But I want things. It really bothers me when I see people I know with cute things. Hold on, let me fix that. I think everyone should have cute things, but when I see people who are in school and only work part time, with cute things, it makes me want to cry. I want cute things. I work real hard. And I’m always broke. I’m 21; my good looks are being wasted by my poverty. I’m going to be thick forever; I have made my peace with that. But can’t I just be adorable right now?

Please?

I will give you a big fat kiss, right on the lips.

A mild explanation of bitchiness

I am out of my element. I am at work, and its night time. It’s after 1 right now and I am working. WHAT THE EFF IS THIS SHIT!? I’m only kidding, I love my job, I just love sleep more.  This chair is really uncomfortable, it puts pressure on my hips and makes me feet go numb. And its warm back here, sleep…sleep…mouse…

So here is the deal, I live with my best friend. He is a boy, sometimes he makes me cry. Sometimes I make him mad. The other day we are arguing and I said to him “Cam, you are right we will never be even, you will always owe me something, but if you ever make me cry unwarranted, I will end you.” I feel like every woman functions like this. We all have our bitchy moments, and we all have semi-valid reasons for behaving is such an unattractive way. But on the RARE occasion that we are just mega-bitches and it seems really unprovoked, just remember that we are doing you a favor. By putting up with our shit, we know you really, really enjoy are company, when we are in our right minds. Also, we are kind of giving you a “get out of jail free” card. I mean, you snap at us, say something a little mean, forget you said you were going to do something, or do some other man thing that makes us cry. We will be super mad, and irrational. We will say mean things, but hold on… in that 3 seconds it takes us to process the fact that you used your rugged, manly ways for evil, we will be even. But only for that 3 seconds, once the retaliation starts. We are winning the bitch game.

Now I realize that I am by no means a normal girl. I think I might be on to something here though. Someone is keeping a tally here, and whether it’s him or her, or her, the best friend is keeping tabs on you and your bitch fits. If you aren’t putting up with their shit days, you are a bad friend. Unless you are one of those weird super nice ladies, the ones where you don’t have a bad thing to say about anyone, and you would never tell anyone that you are totally prettier than this one guys ex wife. When in reality, this bitch is uglier than sin, and potentially the Queen Troll of the ugly forest. But that is all beside the point. What I am trying to say here is that, girls need to be bitches sometimes, if only to make up for our abundance of emotions. If a guy makes us cry (only a little cry, he yells or hits you, GTFO) but we remember that we bitched at him for like 3 hours when he left his face pubes on the bathroom sink, it will take the sting out of things. Once the clouds of fiery rage part, and rational thought is restored. We will dry our tears, remember our bitchy ways, and balance will be restored. The wonderful balance, where the girl is a bitch and the boy doesn’t understand feelings.

Now here comes the parable where I explain how this thought came to be, I know I touched on it earlier, but there is more, lots more. So I like a boy, and Cameron knows this, he is fine with this, but if he hears giggles and movement coming from my bedroom, he is going to go sit in the garage, and I am going to feel like an ass/whore/bad-friend/skank-face. So me and boy go on a date, I come home completely blitzed. I walk in and Cam is awake. I ask if he is about to go to sleep, he says yes. I then say, in my most smart assed voice, “good, block out all noise for the next few hours.” Cam then proceeds to slam his door, and pout. I open the door, yell at him, and throw change at him until he tells me he loves me. I’m pretty sure other boy thinks I’m crazy, but then again, if drunken Leah’s smart mouth and New York accent hasn’t scared him off, I’m not sure what will. I mean really, I told this guy where he should cut me off, he goes to do so and I come back with a “Fuck you, you’re not my daddy!” and then I grab another free beer (ladies night, FTW.) I really am a hot mess, I have no idea why I have friends, or love interests… This is all a mystery to me.

So this started out as a post I was going to dedicate to Cameron Porter, and in a way I guess it is. You should all add him on Facebook, or if you know him, give him a hug. The boy lives with a crazy bitch, with an alcohol problem. He needs a cuddle and a cookie. 

Boys and Back Roads

So the adventure began almost 3 weeks ago. I was without my trusty lap top for 2 of them so I apologize for slacking in the blog department. I basically only have one roommate; the other is attached to some part of his girlfriend’s anatomy. I would rather not say which. I mean I understand the need to see someone you are interested in/just started a new relationship with, but really. He hasn’t slept here since I moved in, and it had been a while before then. What kind of person falls into a relationship and immediately starts living with them? Stupid 19 year olds. That’s who!

Ok off of that rant since Little Kitten might actually read this, (who am I kidding, right!?) I am really enjoying being back in Oklahoma. I have been back roading.  Yes, the kind with a moving vehicle and beer in hand, illegal, I know. I almost got attacked by a bear while drinking on Webster Bridge. I inhaled fumes from burning foam. I drank around a fire in an oil barrel. I’ve kissed boys on back roads. I have consciously decided to listen to country music. I have looked at the stars in the bed of my daddy’s truck. Say what you will, but I am a little bit redneck and I love it! I think it might be one of my most endearing qualities. Right next to my awkwardness, my foul mouth, and my freckles.

So one important thing I have learned. Having a past with someone does not mean your present with them is going to be comfortable, and you should probably remember that. There have been a few situations where I have met up with someone I haven’t seen in a few years, and there was this awkward closeness. It wasn’t until I was alone after the fact that I was like, “I knew this person 3 years ago, and that’s a lot of time for someone to change.” I mean people are crazy, especially people from crazy-ass-meth town. So really all that confidence I had in them was not earned. But I am not off floating down the Deep Fork or anything so, it all worked out. And how, there is another situation where I was nervous because it wasn’t just a few years between the last time we had seen each other, it was like 6 years. We were both stupid over each other freshman year of high school. Nothing ever happened between us, but it was there and we were both aware. This is probably the only thing 14 year old Leah could even consider a good idea. I would high five her. This person seems pretty awesome.  But then again, the first time we hung out, beer, fire, and red dirt were involved. So this friendship was pretty much a given.

I really just can’t get over how happy I am to be back in the Tulsa area. I have missed the shit out of this city! It’s so pretty. I can’t wait to not be broke. There are local restaurants just waiting for me to eat them. I didn’t pay attention to so much when I lived here before, but I plan on making this city my bitch. I will know exactly where to touch it and what to expect from it when I’m done. And I couldn’t be happier with the freedom I have here. It really is a great place for a new beginning!

Overloaded

How do I have this much stuff? I mean really. I was thinking this was going to be an easy move. It’s just me, and I am only moving 4 hours away. Shit, too many things. Nervous about the move. Cam and I are going to get along fine. Other roommie is still kind of questionable. Oh well, I think I can tolerate anyone.

New jobs are terrifying. What if they do everything weird and I don’t like them? And I have to get readjusted to Tulsa. I think that’s almost worse than learning a new city, because I will have all this directional confidence. I am going to get lost, or give someone awful directions. What is this mess? Why am I worrying?

Worry/stress/anxiety makes me poop. I knew this because I like to take a nervous poo before performances, but really 4-6 times a day. That is how much I am pooping, I know you don’t want to know this but life is affecting my colon and I am not ok with it.

Time to learn how to sleep by myself again, it’s been a while. I am scared of the dark. And I get cold.

Kyle has me a little spoiled. I know it, he knows it. Cam is going to think I am a brat. And he will probably make me scoop my own ice cream. He has small hands anyway; I am probably a better scooper than him.

Dear high school friends I only talk to when I am home,

                Is there room for me in your life?

This is my head; now add to that leaving the home you have built with a significant other. Insert a side of insecurity and self exploration. Know that there is already a preexisting undiagnosed anxiety disorder hanging out. And you have the perfect cocktail for overreacting and panic attacks. It’s been fun, let me tell you.

I promise I’m not just writing to complain, I just want to note these feelings and this crazy now, so when I come at you will new Oklahoma crazy you see the difference. It should be fun for all of us.

It’s not even that I have a lot of useful things. I just have a lot of pretty things. How did this all fit in a dorm room, or into a single bedroom? Fuck.

On a side note, I have discovered that when you are living in a situation where everything that is intimate and personal is forced to be casual and out there. It will run over into the rest of your life and you will make an ass of yourself. But only if your name is Leah, and you are really good at making an ass of yourself. 

Honesty Spiders

What’s worse, the spider or the web?

I like to think rejection is like a spider. If you walk through the web, you’re going to spend the next hour freaking out over every little thing that touches you, looking for that damn spider. Now if you just find a spider, you can make the decision to squash it, or to let it outside so it can eat all the flying bugs. It’s the same with rejection. If someone is like “Hey, I’m just not feeling you, sorry.” You can either A. freak the fuck out and be all sad and stuff, or B. ask them why.

From there they spider is in their hands. They can choose to just ignore you, and never tell you why. And let you spend the rest of that week wondering what it was about you that turned them off. Or they can do the grown up thing, look the confrontation in the face and say “hey, you’re a nice enough person, but I really don’t like that one thing you do, or the way you talk.” It’s even worse when you have some back story with this person, then you’re like “um, hold the fuck on, where did all this come from, we had a fantastic time the other day!” of course maybe you are just oblivious to other peoples subtle hints.

This isn’t necessarily something I am going through right now, I just need to vent. I really think brutal honesty, no matter how harsh, is always the best policy. It’s like when you have a booger hanging off your nose, and you spend like 10 minutes just sitting around talking to people, and then one friend grabs you and says “dude, you have a lingerer, you really need to check your face out!” Then you blush because everyone spent the past few minutes staring at the giant ball of mucus on your face. It’s not good for anyone. I mean really, by being super honest, you are giving that person a second chance with someone else. It’s not that they have to change; you are just giving them the option.

There have been countless occasions where I was doing something super annoying subconsciously. Someone called me out on it, and I corrected the behavior. No one wants to be a super annoying douche bag. Help these people out. It’s your civic duty. Forget Sarah McLachlan and her orphan puppies. We need a sad song and an 800 number for honesty, people!

                

On moving in with boys

In about a month, I will be living with two single men. It’s like this whole reverse threes company thing. I couldn’t be more excited, or terrified.

1.     There is only one bathroom in the house. I am concerned about poop smells.

2.     What if they leave hair in the sink?

3.     What if I leave hair in the sink?

4.     What if I really have to pee when one of them is in the shower? I know I’m not afraid of just walking in and doing it, but I have to get in with their comfort levels.

5.     What if they don’t like anything I cook? Wait, never mind.

6.     I sleep naked, and I hardly ever wear a bra when I am at home. I’m not modest, but if I find pictures of my sleepy nakedness anywhere, I will murder them.

7.     What if they only watch horror movies and they think it’s funny to scare me?

8.     What if they run away from me when I cry?

9.     What if they cry?

10. What if they never do their dishes?

11. What if they accidently put my favorite jeans in the dryer?

12.What if they start wearing my underwear?

13. Are they going to mind if I wear their clothing?

14. Are they going to mind that I sing all the fucking time?

15. Are they going to ignore me when I need attention?

16. Are they constantly going to have annoying, skinny, beautiful women over?

17.   Are they going to play pranks on me?

18.   What if they think I’m annoying when I drink?

19.   What if they drink all my beer?

20.   What if one of them falls in love with me?

Most of my concerns will lose their sparkle after I take my first dump in the house. I highly doubt either of them will start eating my makeup, but I will kill them if they do. We have two rules.

1.       The pants rule. When bringing over friends, you must notify all members of the household within 15 minutes of your arrival. We don’t like wearing pants.

2.       No sex between roomies. No exceptions.

They are pretty easy rules. They make sense; there aren’t a lot of loopholes. I feel safe with those.

I am kind of viewing this whole adventure as me getting two new brothers.

Everything I have read about it being harder to write when you are happy is true. I have been pretty happy over the past few weeks. I had one really super awful week, heard a lot of really awful things, and went like 5 days on 15 hours of sleep. It sucked. Then I came home, and knew I couldn’t write about any of the things that were upsetting me, because it would involve me putting a bunch of business out there. And I know that none of you really want to read about all my drama anyways.

UPDATE: I had originally posted this in a separate post, but I deleted it. I need to learn about discretion.. or something.

Idle Curiosity

So, before I put all this out there I just really want everyone to know that, NO I AM NOT PLANNING ON MOVING ON/JUMPING IN A RELATIONSHIP. 

With that being said, I do want someone to take me out. I do want to go to a bar with my girl friends and flirt with men that are in my league. I also have to reevaluate which league I am in, because it’s obviously been downgraded due to an extra 40 pounds in my ass. Also, HOLY CRAP, I haven’t really dated, since, um, yeah... high school.  I did come to college with the mind set of “I’m not going to date” and I ended my freshman year with a long term relationship in the making. But there was never that whole, “hey I’m single, you look nice, take me out.” I always had the “You seem really nice, but I really don’t want to be your girlfriend” tag attached to my hip.

Now, back to the disclaimer at the beginning of this, I really don’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend. I need to be my own girlfriend, if that makes sense. I need to figure out what it is that Leah likes to do when she is alone for the 5^th night in a row. One of my coworkers diagnosed me with Bipolar Codependency, it makes sense. Cause I’m all like “I am mah own woman, roar” and then I’m like “oh hey, I was just kidding, how does my hair look, do you like my hair? I mean really, you should say something about the way I look, so I can feel better about myself.” Typing that was both exhausting and enlightening, because I was smacked in the face with about 45 different situations where I behaved like that. Gross.

I like feelings. I like to take all the feelings I have, throw them on the ground, and roll around in them. I like to do that with your feelings too. So this is where the whole other people thing comes out. It would be impossible for me to shut off the romantic side of my brain, I understand that some people can do that; I however, cannot. I like that nervous, “omg, did that cute guy just look at me” feeling. I like the “I’m getting pretty to go to the city with my girls to pick up some boys (or girls)” feeling. I want to be all excited and pissed off about something. I want to have fun, I want to be reckless, and I want to behave like a 21 year old. I want to know what it feels like to drink a beer in the shower, because apparently that is something that people do. The idea of cold beer in a hot shower sounds both pleasant and awful.  I want to go to the strip club with my guy friends and look at boobies. (Cam, this means you have to come with me.)And I want someone to take me out on a Saturday night, because they are romantically interested in me, but not in a serious relationship kind of way.

Maybe, I’m just needy. Maybe I am just trying to fill my brain with silly irrelevant thoughts so I don’t have to think about the week I just had.

Maybe, I’m just a girl.

I am a girl, I checked.

And it begins.

I feel like this is about as good as I could have hoped for as a first impression. I think this is going to be a good time.

10 reasons I kind of want to be a gay man.

1.        Everyone girl wants a gay friend. Maybe this is just a south thing, but really, skinny girls, fat girls, girls that climb on rocks. We all need male attention, and the fact that you have better fashion sense than us makes us love you. You speak infinite amounts of wisdom. You know how a man thinks, because you are one.
2.       You can talk about your sex life and not be a slut. And if you are a slut, it’s cool, because you are gay.
3.       Forget the sex life, you can openly talk about masturbation and it’s not awkward. Straight girls can’t do this, even though we all do it. If we do we must be some kind of sex maniac. If straight guys do it, they are lonely and desperate.
4.       Ok, this comes with being gay in general. But you actually understand the needs of your partner, because you guys are the same sex.
5.        All clothes are unisex for you. You can where guy clothes because you have a penis, and you can wear girl clothes because you like penis. And I’m not even talking about drag. You can totally wear girl jeans all the time, and girl shirts. You get to rock man cleavage.
6.        You can be a gossipy bitch and no one thinks anything of it. Now I guess this can be a downer too, because, as the gay friend you are totally stereotyped as the gossipy bitch. I can see where that would get annoying if you had no one to take you seriously.
7.       I am under the impression that gay men have sex ALL THE FUCKING TIME.  You have no menstruation cycle to work around. You have things like, Grindr and OKcupid, to get you through the lonely nights. Casual sex is widely accepted as part of your life style.
8.        Drag queens. I feel like all men are prettier than me now. I feel like I can see them all as women and it makes me cry at night.
9.        You know what your partners orgasms feel like. The male orgasm is a mystery to me. If I could switch sexes for a day, all I would do is fool around. I want to understand these sensations, and why you don’t like when I bite your nipples.
10.   You can be a hot mess, and people still love you. I have stopped being friends with girls because they were a mess. I just love my gay friends for it. Expect when I, in turn, also end up a hot mess. I love you, and I trust you, but for the love of god, DON’T LET ME TAKE SHOTS WITH YOU.

Now I understand, these are all stereotypes, and not all gay men are wonderfully fabulous. There are some people that will always be awkward and unpleasant, no matter who they sleep with. I also understand that there is a dark side to being gay, with discrimination, and marriage rights and all. It just looks fun, and sparkly.

Let them eat cake.

I am ready to be in a place where I am not constantly worrying about getting lost. It’s not that I am bad with directions. I just don’t know where anything is in this state. I am ready to be back in a place where everything looks familiar.

I am glad I am moving into an area that is unknown, yet surrounded by familiar. The only part of Bixby I am familiar with is Memorial. Yea, I know this town is wider than one road.

I am excited about living with someone who not only embraces my weirdness, but actually gives me a run for my money.

I am glad I will be living in a city I am not afraid of, and that I can experience this lack of fear as a twenty something.

I am sad that I haven’t taken very good care of my friends in this area. I went to high school with some of these people, and they totally get that innate sense of “build me a fire, throw me a beer” when things start to smell like fall. Hopefully they are as accepting of my presence as I want them to be. Most of them understand the need to run, fast and hard, from the small town you came from. Now, I don’t think I will ever be that friend that goes out and shoots stuff, but I will be the friend that goes with you to pee behind a tree.

I am happy that I don’t know many people in Tulsa, other than the people I grew up with. All the potential to explore. But none of the dangers of losing myself. I have roots here, I don’t have any trees though, and I like that.

I am happy that I will be close to my family.

I am terrified that I will be so close to my family.

I am embracing this change. I am ready for new, I am ready for exciting, and I am ready for crazy.

I am ready to be able to go to a high school football game if I want to. I am ready to kidnap my little sisters, because I can. I am ready to live in a house where I can paint the walls in my room. I am ready to cook in a new kitchen. I am ready to meet new people. I am so ready to just live for while.

I am excited about being so close to Ada.  I can’t even explain how much a two hour drive is better than a five hour drive. I mean I can do there and back in one day if I wanted to. I can be in Act II productions. I can be a safe place for my dear friends that need to escape for a night. I can have my cake and eat it too. And that is a really nice feeling. Things are going right for me now. And I am letting the world know that I am grateful. 

Drunken Ramblings

I'm drunk again, and I'm not even going to edit this shit. so no one pay attention to my many errors, mmkay? So its about 4 am and I'm awake. yes I am getting sleepy and yes, i probably shouldn't have opened beer number. ,um... 1,2.3,4... OK, number 6, that's not bad, right?

I was reading something on that thought catalog that I thought was really neat. The title was figuring yourself out, or something like that, but it was just this guy talking about what he wasn't. and in describing what he wasn't, it painted a pretty good picture of what he was. that was my plan for a blog post tonight. but Mr. beer had other plans. seductive bastard.

Now, if i were to attempt such a thing, it would read; I could be sober. I could not drink large quantities of cheap beer. But that just isn't me.

Is that really something people want to read. No, Its not. Its boring, and not funny. You suck at writing blogs Leah. You should find a new hobby and quit publishing things on the Internet.

Why are the comma key and the period key so close together?

Cam's roommate decided to be less douchey, he might be moving out in late November, I refuse to get my hopes up again. This may just be a tease. BUUUttt a super nice friend of mine offered a room in her house, and it would only be like 200 a month, well less than that. But that is how much I was planning on paying my parents to inconvenience them for like a month or so. I really don't want to sleep in someones office. BUT I MIGHT JUST GET TO MOVE IN TO WHERE I WANT TO!!!!!!!!!!!!! all caps, me Gusta.

Interwebs, plus beer, plus beer, equals stupid blog posts.

I really want to be in someones band, someone take me under your wing and give me shit to sing, I have soul. I have clean vocals. I used to sing opera, be impressed by my metaphorical talent. Also, fuck spelling.

Just so everyone knows my level. I am tipsy after a single beer.. and I AM fighting through my sixth.

As terrified as I am of moving away from my comfort zone. I am also excited, I just really don't want my new boss to be a dick. I just want my whole job to move with me, I don't want to learn anything new and have to deal with some diva general manager. Is that so much to ask? I mean really, its a fucking hotel, its a cake job. I like meeting new people and I have a strange relationship with ass kissing? so what? you are just mad because I made you like me.

Note to self: if you are every going to compose a blog post whilst intoxicated, do it on word processor. It capitalizes shit for you.

Please listen to me go on and on about this girl?

I seriously have a problem with impulse control. I find something I want and I need it now, like 50 times. I guess there are worse problems to have, but by the time I learn all the words to this song I will be sick of it. Maybe. It’s a really good song. I normally don’t care for breathy vocals. The first time I heard Elliot Smith (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NcalJSO6jDY) I was like “ew, its called breath support, loser” and now I like it, more so with this Lana Del Ray chick. I mean really, like one, she is super hot. She has this pouty thing going on with her lips, and her nose is just big enough that I think she is a real life person. I really want to punch her in the face and then kiss her. Not necessarily in that order.

But her voice, it has all the passion of Adele, but in a whisper. I love that. And of course this all goes back to my lesbian crush on Kat George, she wrote a post about her on Thought Catalog. And I stalk all of her posts. Because I’m a loser.

Fastest way into my heart: show me sexy new music. I’m a music slut. It happens. Do you think we’ll be in love forever?

I mean really? How do these people get in my head and write all this shit.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u89_AiQu9BQ&feature=related)
you're no good for me
baby you're no good for me
you're no good for me
but baby I want you, I want you

diet mountain dew, baby, new york city
never was there ever a girl so pretty
do you think we'll be in love forever?
do you think we'll be in love

baby put on heart shaped sunglasses
'cause we gonna take a ride
i'm not gonna listen to what the past says
I’ve been waiting up all night

take another drag turn me to ashes
ready for another lie?
says he's gonna teach me just what fast is
say it's gonna be all right


diet mountain dew, baby, new york city
never was there ever a girl so pretty
do you think we'll be in love forever?
do you think we'll be in love

diet mountain dew, baby, new york city
can we get it downlow, down and gritty
do you think we'll be in love forever?
do you think we'll be in love

let's take jesus off the dashboard
got enough on his mind
we both know just what we're here for
saved too many times

maybe I like this rollercoaster
maybe it keeps me high
maybe this weed it brings me closer
I could sparkle up your eye


diet mountain dew, baby, new york city
never was there ever a girl so pretty
do you think we'll be in love forever?
do you think we'll be in love

diet mountain dew, baby, new york city
can we get it downlow, down and gritty
do you think we'll be in love forever?
do you think we'll be in love?

That song makes me want to wiggle. It’s got this sexy simple beat. It’s not even a dance, it’s more of a drunken sway. Just what I need, songs that make me want to drink.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Gg8pZYjCTM&feature=related)

Is it wro-wrong that I think it's kinda fun
When I hit you in the back of the head with a gun?

The 5 songs of hers that I have been listening to for the past 2 hours really make me want to dress all lady like and delicate. And then smoke a cigarette and drink whiskey straight. But I can’t drink whiskey straight. Maybe I can look bad ass drinking a Bloody Mary? Yes? No? Probably not. I’m not very good at pulling off delicate, so I will probably just look like I’m wearing old lady clothes, drinking an old lady drink, smoking crack cigarettes. I smoke Parliaments, they have a recessed filter. And apparently only black people and crack heads smoke them. I don’t really care. I don’t like feeling the Styrofoam filter in my mouth.

I hate when I find songs that kind of remind me of my life. It makes me feel like I have a manufactured life. O well, maybe that’s why I threw a “kind of” in there. Because I only take the parts I like and apply them to memories I have. I’m so lame.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HO1OV5B_JDw&feature=related)

Swinging in the backyard
Pull up in your fast car
Whistling my name

Open up a beer
And you take it over here
And play a video game

I'm in his favorite sun dress
Watching me get undressed
Take that body downtown

I say you the bestest
Lean in for a big kiss
Put his favorite perfume on

Go play a video game

It's you, it's you, it's all for you
Everything I do
I tell you all the time
Heaven is a place on earth with you
Tell me all the things you want to do
I heard that you like the bad girls
Honey, is that true?
It's better than I ever even knew
They say that the world was built for two
Only worth living if somebody is loving you
Baby now you do

Singing in the old bars
Swinging with the old stars
Living for the fame

Kissing in the blue dark
Playing pool and wild darts
Video games

He holds me in his big arms
Drunk and I am seeing stars
This is all I think of

Watching all our friends fall
In and out of Old Paul's
This is my idea of fun
Playing video games

It's you, it's you, it's all for you
Everything I do
I tell you all the time
Heaven is a place on earth with you
Tell me all the things you want to do
I heard that you like the bad girls
Honey, is that true?
It's better than I ever even knew
They say that the world was built for two
Only worth living if somebody is loving you
Baby now you do

Yes, I expect you to listen to these songs. 

Queso Chicken Enchiladas

Holy shit, I've been inspired.


I made awesome enchiladas, and I am here to share the glory with you. 


You will need:
(ingredients)
one (1) block of Velveta cheese product (or just 12 ounces, because that is all you use)
5 chicken breasts
2 cans of Rotel or other tomato and chile canned product (I used one original and one mild)
1 can cream of chicken soup
9 tortillas (I know they don't come in packages of 9, but I can only fit 9 enchiladas in my pan)
1 can of red enchilada sauce
Ground cumin
Garlic salt
Cheese
Salsa


(Supplies)
9x11 baking dish
Microwave safe mixing bowl
Sturdy mixing spoon




Ok, first things first, make your chicken be not toxic. You can grill it, bake it, or boil it. I boiled mine because I think its easier to shred that way.


Take your velveta, I ended up using a good third of the block. According to the measurements on the side that is 12 oz. Cut your velveta into small cubes, and put the cubes in the mixing bowl


Shred your chicken into the mixing bowl.


Drain your rotel, not all the way, but you don't want all the watery stuff. And add to the pile in the mixing bowl.


Pour the whole can of cream of chicken into the mixing bowl.


Season healthily with the ground cumin and the garlic salt.


Stir until its pretty well mixed.
Put the whole bowl in the microwave for a minute.
Stir.
Microwave for a minute.
Stir.
If the velveta isn't mostly melted, do another minute. I just didn't want to bite into straight cheese product when these were finished.




Pour a thin layer of enchilada sauce in your pan, and I mean thin, just enough to spread around the bottom so the enchiladas don't stick.


Preheat your oven to 325.


Spoon out a heaping dollop of the chicken-y goodness onto a tortilla and roll up. Place the folded side on the bottom so it doesn't roll open. Repeat until you run out of the insides.


Pour the rest of the enchilada sauce on top of the enchiladas.


Add a shit ton of cheese.


I poured some salsa on top of mine for aesthetic purposes.


Bake for about 15 minutes or until everything its all bubbly and melty and delicious.


It is important that you let them set for about 3 minutes, so the cheese and everything sets up. Otherwise they are super hard to get out, and then you have deformed enchiladas.


Serve with chips, and rice, and beans, if you desire.

                        I only have the camera on my phone. I'm sorry.

A solid dozen

I feel like a writer tonight. Maybe it’s the cigarettes, maybe the whiskey.

One thing is for certain. I love my family. As much as it pisses me off, I’m kind of glad my brother is mad at me for breaking up with Kyle. I know that doesn’t make any god damned sense, but it’s a nice feeling. He cares, in an interesting way but whatever.  It’s apparently because I am an evil woman, and women break the hearts of kind men. That may be true, but I had my reasons for leaving and he had his reasons for letting me go. Awesome. There is cigarette ash in my drink. That sucks. Maybe I can drink around it?

But yes, back to the brother. I guess I have always enjoyed irritating him; it’s the little sister in me. Then again, I kind of like being annoying. It’s like I am forever a 12 year old. I like to hit the books people read. Pester them when they are driving. Poke at them while they are trying to concentrate. I don’t want him to be mad at me. But I like that my actions have an effect on him, we aren’t very close and I don’t really feel like I am a part of his life. But he was super sweet when I spent the night with him and his 5 day old son. I love my nephew, I want to spoil him, and take him to see cool stuff when he can start remembering things. For now I just want him to drool on me a little bit. I’m ready to be closer to him, and to his mother. I really love my sister in law; I can’t even fathom how shitty my family would be without her. She has all the advice I should be able to get from my mother, or my sister even, she is solid and down to earth. I like that. She says smart things.

Now Glynnis, for one, she has the coolest fucking name in the world. But if people start naming their children Glynnis, I will search them out and destroy them. It’s the hipster in me; I like it because every one kind of looks at me like, “huh? What’s her name?” yeah that’s a good feeling. I have the most uniquely named sister and the world and she is so much cooler than your sister. You don’t agree, well that’s fine. Glynnis was in the army and she can kick your ass. So say something? And if she doesn’t kick your ass, she will sick all of Alice’s sparkly things after you, and they will eat you.

Have I mentioned the fact that I’m drinking? No? Well I am. I like alcohol.

I’m ready to move in with Cam. I’m ready to start a new blog with Cam, it’s not like I have an avid readers on this blog so I don’t think you will be missing much, and I never really got motivated enough to use this blog for what I wanted to, none of my sewing/cooking adventure have been documented. Except that one chicken salad recipe, but I can’t even eat that now, because I ate it when it was like a week old and it doesn’t sound tasty anymore.

I have a thing for questionable food; I have eaten office pizza on more that on occasion. “What’s office pizza?” you ask. It’s the pizza you find in the back office when you come in at 3 p.m., you have no idea how long it’s been there but its pizza, and you fucking love pizza. I like the rush I get from eating something that might make me shit myself. Speaking of rushes, if you have never been propositioned by a carney? You just haven’t lived.

Oh, yes. My blog with Mr. Porter. My jolly ginger friend, (not really a ginger but has a red beard and is incapable of getting a tan) I will be moving in with him in either December or January, or fucking July because his roommate is a fucking douche. This man is the same man who disliked me when I walked in to Cam’s apartment without knocking. I’m pretty sure I was on the phone with Cam when I was walking up the stairs, he knew I was there. He knew I was there, knocking would have been redundant, he knew I was like 3 feet from his door, it’s not like he was going to suddenly decide to masturbate in the 15 seconds it took me to get from the bottom of the stairs to his door. But whatever, the roommate is an ass. Cam is a dear friend, when people ask about our friendship I normally throw out the fact that he took me in when my parents kicked me out 3 days before Christmas in 2008. I feel like anyone who can do that, and prevent the kick-ee from killing themselves, is a good person.

I hate allergies.

I hate bugs, apparently my blood tastes good. I just want to sit out here and smoke without getting West Nile.

I have been reading a bunch of stuff on Thought Catalog, never been? Read anything By Kat George, I want to be her lesbian lover. I think that’s why I am writing tonight. She is a really prolific writer, and I have 8 blog posts. I’m a slacker. I’m not really a slacker; I just don’t feel like I have anything relevant to say. Who would this even be relevant for? I mean, I read this. And maybe 3 other people read it, but even then I think they just read it out of boredom.

Last cigarette in the pack I bought from Texas. A moment of silence, please.

My drink as almost empty.

I’m ready for a change; I’m ready to have my own room again. I’m ready to cook for someone who hasn’t already had all of the good things I can cook, so they can’t judge me when I make something that sucks. I want to start sewing more of my own clothing, and I want to go to bars with people I only kind of like.

I want.

I want.

I want to sleep.

I don’t think I drank around the ash. That last drink tasted really bad. 


http://thoughtcatalog.com/author/kat-george/

Schizophrenia

It really bothers me that others have such massive control over my life. My happiness is almost always based on the happiness of others. I have completely lost myself. What does Leah want? What does she dream about? Hell if I know, my nightmares consist of murder and hate; my dreams are strange and meaningless.  I need you validate my needs; tell me you think this is what I’m meant to do. And that’s not from anyone specific. I have taken the opinions of total fucking strangers and applied it my goals. They say I’m a good listener and might enjoy counseling. There it is, my new life goal.

You know what pisses me off the most? The fact that I will probably edit out half of the inconvenient truth, just so you don’t think I’m a bitch. I mean really, this is a blog. I’ve already managed to piss of one person because of it,  in my defense, she is pregnant and probably crazy, so I really didn’t care. I didn’t write anything to hurt her. I just wrote it because I was inspired by the abundance of faith that exists over a stupid idea. Living in sin, pfff. I live honestly; I’m not trying to impress any mythological being. That’s not to say that I don’t believe in a “god” or a creator. I might even believe in Jesus, but I don’t believe he deserves my praise. I get no pats on the back for pooping everyday and managing to amuse myself. And that’s all we really are anyways, amusement for someone.

I want to say that I hate that my life has turned into a giant stepping stool. I’m glad I can support someone I really care about, but do I really want to do that for the rest of my life? I’m just going to die in about 40 years anyways, why spend a fucking day on someone else. I have no promise of tomorrow. I could burst into flames in my sleep. But Leah, you don’t have any goals of your own, why not live your life for someone else? Because that sounds like my definition of hell. To wake up every morning, go to work, smile, play nice, come home, smile, play nice. I don’t even feel like I can get pissed off about it. I chose this; I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I can’t say “oh well I changed my mind, deal with your life on your own.” I guess I could say that, but I would feel awful about it. Why would I feel awful? Because he would be sad.

I want to smoke something. Anything. Give me something to drink, something to take the edge off. Now, if you are standing on a cliff, and you're thinking about jumping, and someone takes the edge off, where does that put you? In the fucking rocks, that’s where.

Bleeding, in the fucking rocks.

What does this all boil down to, Leah? What is your fucking point? Give me a reason to feel decent after reading this. I don’t care enough to read this and not get a laugh or a cuddle or anything. I’m pretty sure you just made a “death by rocks” reference. What’s that about? They have hotlines for shit like that.

I am not going to kill myself, and much as I long for a reset button, I’m too worried about wasting my life, to waste myself. I would come back as an abortion if I did that. And that’s no way to be reincarnated.

Music.

Art.

Mother.

Fucker.

I don’t know. I only write like this when I have a sheet over paper I can turn round and round, covering every corner in ink. It’s not meant to make sense. I just write the word that’s punching me from behind the eyes.

What do I want for myself? I want to sing, by myself, in front of people. I can do either. I like feedback, but that comes down to me doing things for the benefit of others? Do they like it? Are they going to clap? Hmm, maybe I’m not so crazy. Lots of people sing for people. Maybe that’s a valid part of happiness; the happiness of others.