Merry Christmas!

Christmas is my favorite time of year!  Everything about it!  I love decorating the tree, picking out and wrapping gifts for everyone, eating delicious cookies and other assorted treats.  I love hanging out with my family (sometimes) and watching specials while drinking cocoa.  I love it all.  But most of all, I love getting gifts.  Now, we all know that it is better to give than to receive, which is why I’ve decided to give you all a copy of the things that I want you to give to me.  I guess that I’m just really into the holiday spirit.  Anyways, here’s a copy of my Christmas list:

Green Lantern Ring

I’m talking fully functional here.  As in, whatever I have the willpower to sustain, I can create.  It would be the perfect tool in life.  Also, it would match my eyes.

This would be great, for a while.

Fine Jewelry

In addition to my incredibly useful and eye-matching GL ring, I could use some glittery gems.  You know; earrings, necklaces, bracelets, anklets, tiaras, etc.  I also have, like, seven other fingers and two thumbs for more rings.  I like emeralds, rubies, and genuine cubic zirconia.

Don't you think I'm pretty?  Tell me I look pretty.

Diamond Shoes

Yes, diamond shoes.  Blood diamonds.  Hey, it’s going to be no picnic walking in those things, so it’s only fair if someone on the other side of the equation suffers, too. 

Sparkly wonderfulness.

Jesus-look-alike Bodyguard

With all that bling, I’m gonna need some protection.  And nobody is going to try to fight Jesus, especially around his birthday.  I mean, come on.  That’s just terrible behavior.  Also, it would be super-cool to be seen walking around everywhere with Jesus.

Everyone would be so jealous.

Also, if he could actually have awesome, Jesus-like powers, that would be great.

A Church

I want to be worshipped.

That's not me.  That's a priestess, dedicated to emulating me in all ways, as do all who worship in my House.

My Own Island

Nothing too fancy, just my own personal island outside of any other country’s jurisdiction.

I was thinking something slightly larger.  Also, with serfs.

Gift Cards

I like Pizza Hut, Target, Old Navy, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.

Ryan Reynolds

Of course.  Of course.  There is nothing I’d like better than to wake up Christmas morning and find him wrapped up under the tree.  Nothing.



Best Christmas Ever



I meant to wrap this post up with a heartwarming message about the holidays, but I’ve kind of lost my train of thought on that one.  Oh, well.  You’ve seen the specials.  You know what I’m getting at.  Have a happy holiday, however you may spend it.





Dear Ryan Reynolds: A Proposal

Ryan Reynolds and Scarlett Johansson are divorcing.  I was shocked and upset to hear about this, because people that beautiful belong together.  They would have made the Earth’s most perfect babies. 

Their beautiful messiah baby

However, neither of them asked for my opinion.  Anyway, out of respect for their privacy, I will not bother speculating on the reasons behind the divorce, or anything along those lines.  No, this is not a gossip-y, tabloid-y post.  This is a heartfelt, tender message to the man I love.

            Marry me, Ryan Reynolds.

            You know how long I have loved you.  Of course, I never would have wished for this sad ending to your marriage, nor would I have made advances while you were still with Scarlett, but I feel that now is the time to make my intentions clear.  Soon, perhaps already, you will be deluged with gorgeous women who have been waiting for this opportunity to pounce on you.  You may wonder if they truly love you for you, or if all they see is your money and fame, and sweet Jesus abs.  Well, I can tell you, Ryan, I am not like those women.  I will appreciate you for who you are, regardless of your socio-economic class or unusually beautiful face.  Remember The Amityville Horror, where you were all creepy and murderlicious?  I would totally have still hooked up with you.  Or Just Friends, at the beginning, when you were playing the fat and nerdy kid?  Yes, Ryan.  Even then.  Even then, I loved you.  I’m not here for your looks.  I don’t care about money.  I’m pretty sure fame would annoy me after the first half-hour.  I’m not here for me; I’m here because of my great and abiding love for you.

Pictured:  Me loving you even if you really did get fat.

            I know that I’m no glamorous Hollywood starlet, but maybe that’s what you need; someone who will stay by your side, supporting you throughout your career, not worried about their own publicity.  There would be no need to worry about if I’m only pushing my own agenda by being with you, because I don’t work in that business.  There would be no balancing act between our careers, because we work in two completely separate fields.  Conflicting schedules and the strain of distance would never be an issue for us, because I’m a writer: have laptop, will travel.  Or a notebook.  Or, hell, for you?  The back of an envelope.  Whatever’s handy, so long as we’re together.  I can be flexible.  I’m willing to put in the effort to make this work.

Effort!

            And, honestly?  I’ve done a little acting in my past.  Not really interested anymore in making a career out of it, but if you ever needed help with ‘getting’ a character, or running lines, or whatever, I’m there for you, baby.  And if you prefer doing that kind of thing on your own?  That’s cool, too.  I have my own interests, as well.  I’m a well-rounded person.  I’ve got my writing, and I also enjoy reading (books and comics), baking, sketching, and dancing like a crazy person.  I have friends.  I’m not a crazy, obsessed stalker; I just love you, and I think that you could love me, too.  I could be good for you.

Our messiah-cyborg baby.  See how much better it could be with me?

            Understand me, Ryan.  I’m not looking for a ticket onto the red carpet, though I’d be marching up and down that thing singing your praises to all if I were there.  I would tell everyone how wonderful you were.  I would do this at premieres for movies that you’re not even in.  Because I love you that much. 

...and the masses shall be taught to worship you

I know, I know; this seems a little forward.  It’s too soon.  I understand.  In fact, I’m still working towards my BA.  We’re both busy people, and this doesn’t need to happen overnight.  You take some time; mourn your relationship, enjoy some alone time, work on new projects.  I’ll finish up school, try to get something published.  What’s important is that you know I’m here, waiting for you.  But not indefinitely.  Remember, I’m a pretty hot commodity, myself, so don’t wait too long.  This offer expires eventually.

Let's be honest: who doesn't want a piece of this?

So, again; take some time to yourself, Ryan.  Figure out what you want.  And when you decide that what you want is someone who will love and support you like I will, you’ll know where to find me.

Right here.

Terrible Roomates Part 2

After the whole thing with N, I ended up in a different suite in the same building, with a girl who I got along with pretty well, for one semester.  The following year, I roomed with another girl, Bernacki.  This post is about her.

I should probably describe Bernacki a little.  She’s a mad scientist (actually, an Environmental Science major, but which sounds cooler?  Come on).  She loves music and forces her favorites onto everyone within her general vicinity.  She skipped her senior prom to go hunting.  She’s a Democrat.  She once killed a moose with her bare hands (I may have made that one up; I have a hard time remembering what was true about Bernacki and what I just told people about her).  She has a crazy-religious Grandmother.  She has a plush Bob the Builder toy on her desk.  She’s a filthy thief.

Oh God she's looking it right in the eyes

Bernacki and I had a much better relationship than N and I because, as much as she drove me crazy, I antagonized her just as much in return.  Usually with my fists.  I’m getting ahead of myself, though.

I first met Bernacki when I moved in with my second roommate; Bernacki lived with a girl named Megan in the other room in our suite.  At our first dinner together, Bernacki asked what was in the potatoes.  No one answered.  After several quiet minutes, she mumbled menacingly, “It’s time.”

Holy Jesus, time for what?  Fresh from my roommate-related nightmare, I suddenly imagined some horrific new-roommate hazing process these girls might employ mid-dinner.

Please realize that I am trying to depict Bernacki as having curly hair, not as being a hobo without access to a hairbrush.

“Time for what?!”  I was clearly freaked out, much to my roomies’ amusement.

“No”, Bernacki explained.  “Not time.  It’s thyme.  In the potatoes.”

Oh.  And they never let me live that moment down.

Bernacki and I eventually settled into a happy routine.  I would check her for chemical spills after her chem. lab and proofread her reports, we would hang out in between classes, sing Patsy Cline songs to annoy our suitemates, and just overall be ridiculous together.  And then it happened.  Bernacki finally showed her true colors.  Her filthy, thieving colors.

Soil-sample brown and moose-blood red

About halfway through the semester, I noticed that I was missing a spoon.  I only owned two spoons at the time, so for one to go missing was pretty noticeable.  Of course, I asked Bernacki and our suitemates right away if they had borrowed it.  They all said no.  I cleared off my desk, moved it and looked behind it.  I searched our bedroom, living room, and bathroom; I went through all of my things and checked at home to see if maybe I had brought it home one weekend for some reason and forgotten it; I wrote a philosophy paper on the effect of a lost spoon on one’s mental, physical, and emotional well-being.  I could not find that spoon.

So beautiful

At first, I joked that Bernacki had taken the spoon, which was ridiculous… or was it?  Who else had access to our bedroom when I wasn’t around?  Our door was closed and locked when we were out.  Perhaps Bernacki had a voracious appetite for cinnamon applesauce and had run out of clean spoons and borrowed mine, then threw it away to hide the evidence.  Or maybe she was jealous of my spoons for their smooth, shiny spooniness, which she knew she could never rival.  Maybe a spoon killed her dog, and she’s always held a grudge.  Whatever her sick, sick reasons, I have never found that spoon.  Even after we moved out at the end of the year, cleaned out the room, and searched it.  That spoon is gone.  I often implored Bernacki to return my poor spoon to me, but she cruelly refuses and she STILL insists that she never took it!  Ha!  As if I was stupid enough to believe THAT!

Somehow, pictures of her with dead animals just feels so right.

According to Bernacki, my righteously-placed anger manifested at night, while I slept.  Allegedly, I woke her repeatedly by viciously beating her while we lay in our side-by-side beds.  I believe that this is her weak attempt to paint me as the bad guy, to throw suspicion of spoon-thievery off of her.  And even if it were true, I feel completely justified.  Anyone who kidnaps a helpless spoon deserves whatever they get.

Even in my sleep, I always keep it extremely real.

Bernacki partially redeemed herself at the end of the year, when there was a cook-out going on.  Our RD was outside at the grill, and my suitemates and I persuaded Bernacki to wear her waders outside and greet the RD like that.  She did it, and I have pictures.  If this doesn’t seem great to you, it’s because you’ve never seen Bernacki in chest-waders.  All past indiscretions were nearly forgiven, but Bernacki ruined it later (by continuing to deny that she took the spoon).  Now, all past indiscretions are very-much remembered.



I had to use real photos, because nothing I make could have ever done this moment justice.



Okay, I admit that I’m just being silly; Bernacki and I still get along pretty well, and we still live together (just not in the same room, but my current roommate is a story for next week).  However, I do have one last encounter to relay:

It was the end of that year, and I was in the bathroom, cleaning up, while Bernacki and her family were carrying her things out.  I said hi to them all, but focused on my very-important cleaning (which was actually most-likely a terrible idea; I was spraying cleaner that I probably should not have been inhaling within a small, contained area).  When Bernacki was just about moved out, her mom stopped to say goodbye to me.

Don't be concerned.  I'm just stoned on bathroom cleaner.

“Goodbye”, she said kindly.  “It was so nice to meet a friend of Rebecca’s.”  To which I responded:

“Yeah, it was nice- Wait, who’s Rebecca?”

Yeah, it turns out that “Bernacki” is her last name.  And she won’t let me live that one down, either.