general panic and what is quickly becoming my most often used word.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck fuck. Fucking fuck fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fucky fuck fuck fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fucking fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

HAVING NO MONEY SUCKS.

I'M SORRY IF I OFFENDED YOUR VIRGIN EYES.

BUT NOT REALLY.

p.s. After writing this, it was brought to my attention that Nicole once wrote a post eerily similar to this a long time ago. But with a different word (Vagina!) so you know, props to Nicole for being more creative than me.

forgetful-ness and feeling bad and I'M SORRY!

{via.}

I didn't forget about you, promise!

Okay, I did for a while.

It was bizarre! It was like, I would be walking along and I would think "I'm totally forgetting something." But I'd check around and I'd have my phone and keys and sunglasses and whatever else I was supposed to have and would go merrily on my way.

OBLIVIOUS TO THE REAL PROBLEM.

And then today, as I was driving back to College Station for school, it slammed me in the face.

Someone texted me, asking if I was following someone's blog who will be studying abroad this semester (about a million people are studying abroad this semester... JEALOUS.) and my mind was like "OH HEY VALORIE, DON'T YOU HAVE A BLOG? WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT?"

Then I was like DAMMIT, MIND, YOU DIDN'T REMIND ME.

And then I thought I was having a psychotic break because I was bitching out my mind for not remembering something. Yes.

So yeah. Here I am to tell you that I am in fact alive. Not much is going on right now except that classes start tomorrow, which is unfortunate. I am a little homesick for Dallas at the moment, but I'm sure I'll get settled in soon.

Also, I'm super sorry I haven't been commenting on anyone's posts. I will catch up soon, promisies! :)

That Time I Found Out Mr. Man Would Rather Fight a Great White Than Own a Parrot

{via.}

I have bruises and scratches all up and down my arms. I wish I could tell you a story about sexy time on a kitchen counter or a bull riding competition or a really epic white water rafting trip, but the real reason is so much more embarrassing.

Earlier today, Mr. Man and I decided we needed a trip to a pet store. He really wants a shark or maybe another dog (both of which are sold nearby… I know, sharks? What the hell?) and even though I told him it was a dangerous idea, he contended that he fears nothing and off to the puppy store we went.
No, these bruises are not from him having to drag me away from the puppies, though that probably almost had to happen because it was like a cutegasm going on in there. Yes, I said cutegasm. Get over it!

Anyways. Apparently Mr. Man lied about this “fears nothing” thing.

So, there was this parrot. I was petting it because it seemed friendly and I like parrots and it kept bobbing it’s head the same way I do when I’m laughing at another’s expense, which made us bond immediately. Mr. Man joined me, petting the bird only after a moment’s hesitation. We were talking and I was refusing to leave because the parrot was just so darn cute, when it jumped on Mr. Man’s wrist.

Mr. Man didn’t like this. I think the bird sensed his unease because it started walking up his arm toward his head. That only made Mr. Man freak out more and he started ducking like he was going to fall into the fetal position at any moment. He finally whimpered, “Get it off me,” and I knew we had a problem.

I started trying to get the bird to go back on the peg. Mr. Man was continuing to cower, and the bird was bobbing it’s head like it’s really really happy. It even made little cooing sounds that would have been cuter in any other situation.

That’s when I realized it: Mr. Man is afraid of large birds. This is a problem, because I’m skittish around loud sounds, and this damn bird had both size and sound aplenty. So as I tried to rescue Mr. Man from the parrot dancing on his back, the damn thing was squawking as loud as it could and flapping it’s overlarge wings at me rather violently. It hit me, I stumbled back onto the cage, Mr. Man yelled at it, it tried to fly but can’t so squawked even more and started clawing at my arms and Mr. Man’s head. Finally, blessfully, a woman that worked there came and rescued us, saying the simple command “up,” to the damn thing and putting it back on it’s peg. Mr. Man and I froze as if saved from a train, then immediately felt pathetic. We ducked out of the pet store, nursing our wounds and hurt pride over cheesesticks.

And that’s how two adults lost a fight against a bird.

things I wish college would teach me but probably won't, so I'm doomed to never know. EVER.

{via. or maybe via. not really sure?}

The other night, I was at KJ's house with Cyndi and the power went out. To entertain ourselves, we started discussing shit like politics and how stupid Sarah Palin is, and also how disappointed we are in the US public education system for not teaching us things clearly vital to our lives. So, without further ado (who the hell came up with that phrase, by the way?) these were our top 6 things that we really wish college would cover because, I mean, what in the actual fuck am I going to do when I graduate and still don't understand how this shit works?

1. How to do my taxes. There are too many fucking forms and rules and it's apparently different in each state which is just really inconvenient because once I have my diploma in my hand, Texas can pretty much go fuck itself, except Dallas and Houston because they're pretty awesome. Except not always because the humidity and the 111 degree days and the GAH. Anyways, apparently I'm supposed to like file taxes next April and I just don't. Even. Know.

2. Social skills, in all situations. Things like: What to say to a cop when caught in a compromising situation. How to deal with your ex best friend dating your ex fiancé. Avoiding people efficiently. How to break up with someone without it turning into a shitfest. How to keep your dignity (and your stomach contents) during an intense interrogation. What to do if ET phones you. How to insult people in ways that don't involve "your mom," or "you are!" Throwing a good dinner party and how to politely tell people to get the fuck out at the end of the night.

3. How to dress so you don't end up on peopleofwalmart.com. Also, how to do your makeup so you don't look like a prostitute or a clown. Basic hygiene would also be good. Because like, there are some people who definitely go through life without learning that and when I'm sitting next to you in class I DON'T APPRECIATE YOUR STENCH.

4. Using duct tape effectively. This is knowledge that could save your life. Maybe. I'd know for sure if I actually had acquired this information. Because I'm pretty sure duct tape can be used to close a wound. Also, to make a prom dress. And fixing basically everything. Except I don't actually know how to do any of those things, so if I'm ever stuck in the woods with a knife and duct tape and I'm injured, I'm basically fucked. So also, advanced survival skills, please.

5. Flying a plane. You know, in case both pilots faint or just freak out, or there's another hijacking, or the pilot is also the only doctor and some woman is giving birth and so they need another pilot so the original one can pull the baby out. THESE THINGS HAPPEN PEOPLE. And I for one wish I knew how to fly a plane so I could STEP THE FUCK UP. Yeah, that's right, I'LL BE THE ONE SAVING YOUR LIFE. Well, I would be, if I knew how the fuck to fly a plane!

6. What to do when the zombies rise again. I mean, I know I'm supposed to like, aim for the head, but what do I do when I run out of bullets? Or gas? Should I hotwire a car? Can someone teach me this skill, because I'm pretty sure Google won't be around during the zombie invasion. What is the optimum number of people I should travel with to protect ourselves and remain inconspicuous? How fast can zombies run, because if I need to train to outrun them, that'd be good to know in advance. And also, like, is it an airborne disease? Or genetic? Max Brooks says it's passed through bites, you know body fluid-to-body fluid contact, kind of like STDs, but let's not go there because sex with a zombie? Gross. WAIT. WAIT. If I offer to have sex with the zombie will it not eat me? Can zombies get erections? I'm tempted to say no, but Stephenie Meyer decided that vamps can have sex and impregnate people despite their TOTAL LACK OF BODY FLUIDS, so fine, fuck with folk lore. WHY DON'T I HAVE THE ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS YET?

So, come on, College! Life 101, please. STEP IT UP.

Also: Yes, zombie Palin. All your worst fears combined.

Couldn't have said it better.

{via.}

Wants: Unfiltered.

I had a scary but wonderful realization recently. Not even a realization, since I've always known this about myself, but I'm finally acknowledging the truth of it and not hiding behind safety nets and mommy's skirt.

I want to be an author. I want to make my living writing. I want to spend my time every day connecting with characters and feeling the joy that only writing a scene I'm really proud of can bring me. I want to connect with other people through my writing. I want to open doors to another world for people like other authors did for me. The idea of this makes me quiver with excitement to my core and feel like my very soul is singing.

Yes, I want to help people. I want to teach as well. I really want to sit down and have coffee with every person in the world. There are eleventy billion things I want to do during my lifetime. And for a while I thought law school was the route to all that. But really, it's just one route of many. And maybe I'll still go to law school. Maybe. But I don't have to, and I'm recognizing that.

It's so freeing.

I'm going to spend my days writing instead of wasting them doing useless things (I'm looking at you, facebook). My goal is to have a novel finished being written by September 1. I'll revise, revise, revise starting the 2nd. I'll take the next step (finding an agent, publisher, etc.) by December 1.

Does this scare me? Hell yes. Does it excite me a hundred times more than it scares me? Fuck yes.

Live free and do epic shit.

"I get up every morning determined to both change the world and have one hell of a good time. Sometimes this makes planning my day difficult."
-E.B. White

In Which I Probably Need a Time Out

{via.}

Lately, I've been thinking I need a time out.

A time out from my job, a time out from school, a time out from life. I need some time to think about what I've done, what I'm going to do, and how I'm going to change. I need a few minutes to mull over mistakes I've made, people I've hurt, lines I've crossed, so that in the future I can at least keep from hurting people, though I'll never stop making mistakes or crossing lines.

It'd be real nice if this time out could be somewhere where no one knows my name. So if God could just like pick me up and drop me in France, that'd work out real well since I only know about five words in French.

{Also, soaring over the Atlantic Ocean with only God holding me up sounds rather kickass.}

I know berating myself for mistakes and mulling over mishaps will never make me a better person, but I need a time out that will give me a second to consider my future: what I want from it and what I can contribute to it.

Does anyone else need a time out?


This post was inspired partly by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

Eat Pray Love

{via.}

Or, Get Out of My Head Elizabeth Gilbert.

When I first wrote that, I originally wrote “Get out of my heart,” which is maybe what I actually meant, but I’m not quite sure yet, having put down this book literally less than ten minutes ago (as I write this).

To say that I devoured this book would be appropriate, especially given part of the title. To say that I breathed it in, examined it, and exhaled the unnecessary parts, would be accurate.

I put off reading Eat Pray Love for a long time. I heard of it when it was first released, but being something like fifteen or sixteen at the time, was almost definitely too young for it. I would have comprehended the plot, certainly, I might have maybe related to certain aspects of the book, but certainly not in the way I did now.

Which is to say that the entire time I read it (in under 24 hours – I paused only to help a good friend pick out an outfit for a wedding and to get just enough sleep to function), I was thinking, “GET OUT OF MY HEAD ELIZABETH GILBERT.”

Which is, really, the highest compliment I can give this book. Any book. This has happened to me a few times before, namely with Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk and The Awakening by Kate Chopin. All three of these books have made me alternately laugh, cry, and be overwhelmed with a sense of companionship and of meeting a soul-friend, which if you’ve never had a soul-friend, someone who reached down into the deepest parts of you and met you on a level of yourself you didn’t know existed, then hope or pray you find one soon.

The way Eat Pray Love made me sit up and go “Yes – someone else gets it,” even when I’m not quite sure what it is, astounded me. No, I haven’t been divorced. No, I haven’t chilled with a medicine man in Bali or lived in an Ashram in India or gone on a No Carb Left Behind experiment in Italy, but I have cried my heart out on my floor multiple nights in a row and lost myself entirely in a relationship and been heartbroken and bitter and desperate and wondered how the fuck I got to where I am. How Liz Gilbert goes about acknowledging these parts of her life and then solving them on her own terms is wonderful in an indescribable way.

That’s a lie. Little in this world is indescribable. All else I’ll choose to say though is this: Buy this book now. Put it on your bookshelf, remember that it’s there. Read it someday when you’re going through a time of self-discovery and change, when you need someone to be a soul-friend, even if you’ve never actually met.

{These opinions are my own. No one paid or asked me to write this and I mean every word I say about this book.}