The Borrowers Stole My Parsley

So, dreams. Everyone has them. Not the "I want to be an astronaut when I grow up" type of dream, but the "Holy shit a clown is chasing me and I can't run" type of dream. The kind of dream you have when you're sleeping.

Only one out of four of the above things I wrote was actually a sentence. #CreativeLiberty

I have a lot of shockingly fucked up dreams. Like, really weird, inexplicable stuff. But I also have a lot of really hilarious dreams. Let's focus on the funny ones, shall we? The following are actual, unadulterated quotes from my dream journal, dated between 2009 and the present.

My lovely dream journal that I bought in Turkey

"Get on train to Nazi Jew resort. If we speak in British accents, they won't kill us. They like the British."

"America has an obesity problem. You don't want to use the obese bathroom."

"I have to sing karaoke songs that I don't know in a powerpuff girls skirt."

"Tents may be insulated...???"

"Guts round. Round of what? Don't know."

"I switch clothes with a dead girl because I like her wedding dress."

"Jesus stops helping at the end so you need to grill 6 hot dogs."

"I want to wear a top out of the store but the mirror yelled at me to take it off."

"The Borrowers stole my parsley and I need it."

"I hit her in the face with my new Covergirl Lash Blast mascara and it breaks and I'm pissed cause I just bought it."

"The president's dog dies and I have to go to a banquet."

"Mom and I go to Starbucks and I get some coffee thing even though they recommended their new guacamole shake."

"Ryan Seacrest is having sex with our toy pigs."

"Someone has saran wrapped and rolled a bunch of mansions. I am amazed by this feat."

"It is actually a toe penis."

"A lot of partying at this club called HAWT."

"I watched Iggy Azalea perform and ate a steak with garlic fries. The steak was deep fried."

"Man gives dog eggs when he does tricks."

Sometimes I wish Freud were still alive so I could be like, "Hey Sigmund, what does it mean when a celebrity host is having sex with my toy pigs that don't even exist in real life?" And he'd be all, "This represents your unconscious sexual urges toward animals and short men."

Dreams are fun.

Thoughts while watching HGTV

House Hunters: Where people seem to think that carpet and wall paint are unchangeable.

House Hunters International: Where people appear confused by the fact that dwellings in other countries differ from those in America.

Property Brothers: Where people seem surprised that the brothers show them gigantic expensive houses even though the show is in its zillionth season and literally everyone knows the gimmick.

Fixer Upper: Where you pay more attention to how adorable Chip and Joanna are than anything happening to the houses.

Love it or List it: Where people have giant expectations for tiny budgets and there is nothing better than Hillary and David's banter.

Love it or List it, Too: Where you start to miss Hillary and David real fast.

Rehab Addict: Where her accent starts to grate on you real hard about 15 minutes in.

Flip or Flop: Where you never cease to be amazed by the shitty condition in which people leave foreclosed houses.

Extreme Homes: Where you get really excited because this show is so cool and it's NEVER ON.

Designed to Sell: Where people have to sell houses that look really really nice when the designer is done with them and it just makes your heart hurt.

Selling New York: Where people pay $30 million for what you could buy for $3 million in literally any other city.

Property Virgins: Where people expect granite counter tops, a pool, an open floor plan, and new construction in their first house. For $100,000.

Help! I've fallen, and I can't get up!

To begin, let's just briefly recount Kelly's issues with back injury:

1. In the summer before my second year of college, I tore a bunch of my spinal muscles because I picked up a kid that I was babysitting and twisted around weirdly. Got some muscle relaxers, did some physical therapy, it all turned out okay.

2. The summer after my third year of college, I was struck by a vehicle as I was walking to class. I walked away from that just fine (relatively), but it likely caused some soft tissue damage leading to...

3. The following fall semester, I had what I was told was a slipped disk, though after speaking with my dad and another doctor (and remembering that the medical care in Auburn is beyond shitty), I have come to the conclusion that it was actually the same thing that happened to me yesterday, just less severe.

Yesterday morning, I woke up and was having some pain in my lower back. It happens every once in a while since that "disk injury" a few years ago. I wasn't terribly worried about it, but it just kept getting worse and worse throughout the day. It probably didn't help that we were driving to and from Knoxville to see a play, so I was sitting down for about six hours.

When we got home, I lay down on the floor, put a pillow with a heating pad under my lower back, and put my feet on a chair with my knees at right angles. I was told by the Auburn disk doctor that this was a good position for your back. And I gotta say, I had zero pain for the 20–30 minutes that I was laying like that. Woohoo!

So after about a half an hour, I decided I should get up to take a shower. You know, hygiene and all that. So I gently rolled onto my side. It hurt a little when I did that. Then I tried to push myself up, and oh my LANTA, something was very, very wrong. I tried pushing myself up with just my arms. I tried twisting my torso so I could put both my arms under me and get more power, all the while feeling like I had a fleet of microscopic Roman soldiers jabbing their spears into my spine.

Eventually the pain got so bad that I started crying a little bit, and at that point I called my dad, who was watching football in the basement. Once he got upstairs he told me to try moving in several different directions to see how we could get me up. Every single movement was AGONY. I cannot adequately describe how badly this hurt.

So at this point I'm sobbing and hysterical. Finally he gets me to roll (literally, just like flop over) onto my back, and he and my mom pulled me up to standing (this whole ordeal took about half an hour, by the way). Once I was standing, I couldn't breathe; I couldn't move; I couldn't speak; I just stood there gasping for air like a dumb fish. A big dumb fish. It was terrifying and unreasonably painful. Like, I cannot adequately get across just how much pain I was in.

Dad called the ER, and we drove down there (Side note: super proud of myself for being able to hobble to the car in my state). My parents are trying to ask me things in the car about where it hurts and all the things a concerned parent should ask, and I responded in two words or less, sounding like what I would imagine people sound like when they just got done running a marathon.

Dat hospital bracelet doe

I had also taken a 5mg of valium, because when I say I was hysterical, I was fucking HYSTERICAL. I was shaking partly from the pain, but also partly because I was panicking myself half to death. And even with 5 mg of valium in my system, my pulse was still at 98, and my blood pressure was...um, real high. Like I'm not even going to say it because it's embarrassing.

Anxiety is fun.

So what actually happened is that I tore a ligament between my iliac crest and sacrum, so the joint moved ever so slightly out of place and got all inflamed, and shit went down. You know the rest.

Dat joint doe

I received two shots with three medications altogether that went into my muscles and made my arms quite sore. 

Dat needle bruise doe

I have also received a lovely cocktail of medications including steroids, muscle relaxers, and what is essentially souped up ibu profen.

Dat medication cocktail doe

Apparently this is going to happen to me a few more times in my life, so I should probably go ahead and just get one of those life alert buttons. You know, the ones from the commercials where 90-year-old grandmas say, "Help! I've fallen, and I can't get up!"

Because I'm 90.

1st year vs. 2nd year Grad Students

Currently, I'm halfway through my second year of graduate school, which means I am 3/4 finished, which means I have one semester left until graduation.

I'm a little excited.

I've been reflecting on my time in graduate school and how much I've changed in such a short amount of time. To demonstrate this change, I've come up with several situations and the differences in how a first-year grad student would react vs. how a second-year student would react. Enjoy.

Presentations

1st year: How on earth am I supposed to fill 30 minutes?

2nd year: How on earth am I supposed to fit all of this information in 30 minutes?

Group Papers

1st year: Ugh, how annoying, I would rather just write it myself.

2nd year: Oh thank god, I only have to write a third of this.

Grad school in general

1st year: I’m so happy to be in grad school!

2nd year: WHEN DOES IT END.

Mornings

1st year: I should probably look professional even when I’m in class, you know, just in case.

2nd year: Do you think they’ll be able to tell these are my pajamas? How important is it to wear a bra? How long has it been since I washed my hair?

Food

1st year: I should pack my lunch. It’s healthier and cheaper.

2nd year: A coffee and a cake pop is an acceptable meal, right?

Internships

1st year: Foundation practicum was pretty fun. I learned a lot. 

2nd year: OH GOD. This could be my future job. Must act professionally. Don't fuck up. You could work here in six months. Keep it together. I am so hireable. LOOK AT HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO HIRE ME. PAY ME MONEY. 

Alarms

1st year: Okay I need time to eat, get dressed, make myself look presentable...I’ll just set an alarm for an hour before I have to leave.

2nd year: *snooze* *snooze* *snooze* Shit.

Networking

1st year: Everyone could be a potential connection! Go to all of the events! Meet all of the people! Form many bonds!

2nd year: Oh, I'm so sorry, I can't go to that event. I'm super busy. *Puts on sweatpants* *Pours glass of wine* *Watches Netflix*

Shit my family says

My family is a stone cold pack o' weirdos, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I have an archive of hilarious things my family has said, because it happens fairly regularly. Here are some of them for your enjoyment pleasure.

The That's What She/He Saids

The Situation: Brother and I are heating up leftover BBQ pork and homemade biscuits for dinner.
Brother: "Do you want the meat on your biscuit or next to your biscuit?"

The Situation: Brother tells me of the time he tried some of his roommate's whiskey.
Brother: "He took it out, and I had a sip. Then he left, and I could still taste it 30 minutes later."

The Situation: Mom, brother, and I are watching HGTV (typical) and someone spilled paint on a hardwood floor.
Me: "How would you clean that up?"
Brother: "It's not that hard when it's wet; you just have to wipe it up before it dries."

The Situation: Brother and I were discussing some type of food.
Brother: "I like the really long ones...the thick ones."

Brother has a special talent for saying these types of things and then never noticing how "TWSS" they are. I have developed the "TWSS Stare," which consists of me looking at him with my eyebrows raised until he replays what he said enough times in his head to understand just how dirty it sounds.

The Ridiculousness

The situation: The family is searching for parking in downtown St. Augustine. Dad circles around the block a few times before casually parking next to a curb where there is clearly no type of parking space whatsoever.
Me: "Is this legal?"
Dad: "You have to be flexible in your interpretation of legal parking or you never get any."

The situation: Dad is discussing his day at work over dinner. He tells us about how he accurately guessed the weight of every baby he delivered that day.
Dad: "I am the BEST fucking estimator of fetal weight."

The situation: Mom and I are discussing stomach issues after I had the poops for a day. Mom sympathizes and says that everyone has been there.
Mom: "Like when you've been farting and you get to that last fart and you're like...oh, that's not air."

The Truly Unbelievables

The situation: I had called dad and left a voicemail. As I am getting on the bus to go to campus, he calls back. When I pick up, the man is breathing like he had just run a marathon.
Dad: "I'm sorry I couldn't answer! I was holding a placenta."

The situation: I have called mom to ask her about heating up something in a tupperware without melting the plastic. Mom tells me that I can heat it up for short periods of time and it will be fine. I say thank you and prepare to hang up.
Mom: "Oh! By the way, you're dad got in a car accident. He's fine. I was going to text you, but I've been taking pictures of bees."

And The Sweet One

The situation: I called brother to discuss some drama that was happening in my life. I was pretty upset and down about it. I told him that it felt like this year was just out to get me because it's been pretty rough. And that little philosophical mofo busts this out.
Brother: "Well, it's like Bob Ross says: 'You gotta have dark to have light. It's like in life: you gotta have a little sadness once in a while so you know when the good times come.'"

I'm unbelievably lucky to have such a bitchin' family. I know I can tell them anything (seriously...nothing is too far), and that they will always be there for me 24/7. Mostly, though, I'm glad I have a place where I can be as weird as I want, and not only will they not judge me for it, they will be right there with me. Like my dad said:

"I'm so grateful for you and Michael. You guys are nuts. It's great. What would I do with normal children?"

Well, life would certainly be a little more boring, wouldn't it?

Three Small Words

Time for another "Kelly gets all introspective and shit" type of post *insert party hat emoji*. I was distracted all day Friday for a number of reasons, not the least of which was my level of end-of-week exhaustion even after a morning caffeine boost. My distraction led me to thinking of what leads people to make decisions about life, love, career, and happiness. I came to the conclusion that generally, decisions are governed by three things: pride, comfort, and fear (I ended up writing three short poems inspired by each word, which I'll include at the end. Man, I miss writing).

I also made a decision that day. I decided to do my damnedest to never make any more decisions based on pride, comfort or fear. So here are my new governing principles, still based on those words, but on overcoming them rather submitting to them.

Pride

Admit when you are wrong. Understand others' points of view—do not listen to their points of view; seek reasons and ask questions. Maintain independence without cost to relationships. Apologize in four steps: 1) What you are sorry for, 2) Why it was wrong, 3) What you will do to make amends, 4) Why it will never happen again. Strive for compromise, and be prepared for sacrifice. Wait to respond. Argue without sarcasm.

Comfort

Pursue passion like a gladiator would pursue a lion. Attempt to know the unknown. Remember that money and security should not take precedence over love or your passions. Get up a little earlier. Be a little more vulnerable. Foster your sense of wonder. Cross the other arm on top. Cry. Feel. Freak out.

Fear

Start over. Say "I love you" too soon. Trust. Trust. Travel. Move away (or stay). Make new friends. Confront. Get undressed with the light on. Be honest. Go it alone. Say what you feel. Put yourself first. Put others first. Jump in the shower before the water's warm. Write a love song; play it and mean it.

Pride
"Don't back down,"
Urgent, hot breath in his ear,
"You're right."
Consumed with justifications,
Overcome with stubbornness,
He left.

Comfort
Wrapped in the warm blanket
Of morning coffee and rush hour,
She fell into a deep sleep.
Her passions lie dormant
As she rose from the dead
To begin another day.

Fear
Like a clock, his mind ticked between yes and no.
Desire
Stability
Passion
Familiarity
Racing pulse and sweaty palms
Dictated the final pendulum swing:
Stay.

OOTD Log: The Roaming Roach

Everyone is familiar with this #NastyAF bug right here:

It is the cockroach, famous for its ability to terrify even the manliest of men and the womanliest of women. We hear about their infestations in tiny New York apartment kitchens, of the horrors of roach bombing. Yet, thankfully, in most parts of the country, it's unlikely that you will run into these nasties on a regular basis.

In the south, though, these rare run-ins are made infinitely worse. You see, in the south we have mutant cockroaches that we call palmetto bugs or water bugs. Same bug, but bigger, faster, and not afraid of humans.

Great.

*Shudders*

Last night at about midnight, I was curled up in bed thoroughly absorbed in Chuck Palahniuk's new collection of short stories. Suddenly, I heard a violent rustling in the corner near my dresser. Fergie heard it too and leapt off of my shelf to go investigate. I sort of half sat up, peeked over, and saw a crumpled up receipt (one of the best non-toy cat toys) moving on what seemed to be its own accord. 

I got a sinking feeling in my chest because deep down I knew what was crawling around in that receipt. I've lived in this godforsaken bug-infested area of the country long enough to know that the only thing that could make that much noise in a piece of paper was one of the south's own freakishly large cockroaches.

Fergie was super into it—a toy that moves on its own, wow!—but I knew he would want to play with it for a while before he killed it. I had to take matters into my own hands.

I began moving everything out from underneath my dresser (where I had been storing all of my shoes while I've been home. Yes, I shook them all out). I grabbed one of my neon pink sneakers, the thickest-soled shoes I own, and prepared myself for a grade-A smushing. 

The stupid cat kept freaking out the roach with his attempts to play, though, so the roach was running around like crazy. I took a moment to gently push Fergie out of the way so I could better reach the bug, and the roach saw its exit and ran.

Directly toward me.

And crawled over my leg. 

You know, I used to have this piercing horror-movie-level shriek when I was a kid. It was truly impressive. My parents have a wealth of stories involving my public tantrum throwing involving these shrieks (I was not the most fun kid to be around). As I grew up, I lost my ability to do these high-pitched shrill shrieks and developed a lower, throaty, hoarser scream that is also pretty cool and came into great use when I was in Dracula, but wasn't of the same caliber as the shrieks of my childhood hay-day. 

Last night, I rediscovered the child shriek. Man did I fucking SCREAM. I absolutely lost my marbles. I was sobbing like a bachelorette that didn't get a rose. The stupid roach ran over my leg and under my bed and found shelter beneath my jewelry bag that was lying on the floor. It was at this point that I called in the big guns. 

The big guns, above left

The large man in that picture is my (younger) brother. He is 6'2" and BROAD and STRONG and the greatest 100% human 0% chemical additives bug-fighting weapon you will ever meet. Bless his heart, the kid made it upstairs and into my room at warp speed because when I called him I was hysterical, and he thought that something actually life-threatening had happened. 

He hunted down the roach (which had scurried back across my room while I was on the phone with him, prompting more shrieks), smushed it as I had intended to with no interruption from Fergie, and flushed that motherf*cker down the toilet. He then sat with me for about an hour and a half while my body slowly relinquished panic mode. 

Then I removed all non-essential items from my room to lower the number of potential roach hiding places, re-checked all corners, curled up in a tiny ball in the middle of my bed, and fell asleep having dreams about being chased by hoards of roaches. 

Someone should seriously film my life.