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.