Ghost Busters

Let me preface this post by sharing a neat fact about me.

(Ok not so much neat as a total pain. But anyways.)

I am afraid of everything. Like EVERYTHING. Not in a paranoid/might possibly need medication sort of way - but more in a worry-some/worst case scenario type of way. For example:

- I'm afraid of being electrocuted/hit by lightening.
- I'm afraid of me or anyone I know getting getting in a car accident. (This particularly applies to the fiance who drives WAY too fast. You know its true Crayon.)
- I'm afraid of earthquakes/fires/tornadoes/floods and I guarantee that when I buy insurance for my first home whatever sales guy I purchase from is going to be damn happy he went into work that day as my "Every Feasible Disaster That Might Occur Even If Your Climate Only Makes Half Of Them A Possibility" package will probably pay for a trip for every single one of his children into the Happy Land of Orthodontia.
- I'm afraid of all bugs and anything that has more than four legs. Or no legs.
- I'm afraid of getting food poisoning (This is only because I've had it fairly recently though - Note to all Utahns - Stay Away From "Ocean City".)
- I'm afraid of getting some sort of disease/illness or of having anyone I know get one.

But first and foremost the thing that I'm probably the most terrified of - is dying. Which, according to all those weird studies I Google when I can't sleep at night, is pretty common. Simply because we are a society cultivated on the idea that we can and should plan for every possible outcome in our life. Except that doesn't really work with matters like death and the afterlife because we really just don't know how it all shakes down after we're dead and gone. And I, like many others I know, just don't like that. Ignorance is never bliss. And what it really comes down to is the kinds of beliefs you hold - particularly your religious beliefs.

Religion is something I've never really discussed on this blog, partly because I don't want to offend anyone and partly because I haven't seen enough of life to seriously commit myself to any one set of beliefs, but when it comes to death the two seem to go hand in hand. I grew up in a Mormon (LDS- the majority religion in Utah) household and while my family was attending church I always had the idea of Heaven (or possibly Hell - depending on how much of my Mom's perfume I had "borrowed" that week) to fall back on whenever my worries crept up on me. Since then most of my family has become "inactive" (Mormon lingo for: we don't go to church anymore) and while that's perfectly fine with me, as I was never terribly attached to the church and didn't lament the lack of its presence in my life, it has left me without a solid set of answers to turn to when I inevitably start to worry about how quickly my life is moving and what I have to face when its over. And because I have no real solid evidence one way or the other (afterlife vs. unconsciousness) I have no means of satisfying the little bug in my head that likes to remind me of these things at the worst possible moment. He wants answers and I have none to give him. Except not everyone has this problem. And when I say not everyone who I really mean is the Fiance.

When Crayon and I first started dating he let me in on a little fun fact. Apparently his house, and specifically the basement of said house, is haunted. Which is pretty cool. Now before you start rolling your eyes and using words like "poppycock" let me provide a little insight. Crayon cannot lie. He simply cannot do it. The few times he has tried to lie to me (concerning presents, surprises, and other such matters) he pretty much fails at it entirely. He grins, talks in this falsetto type voice, and can't maintain any form of eye contact. The whole thing is rather cute. And when I catch him at it -he blushes relentlessly- but he'll deny that to the ends of the earth.

The point is that if anyone else told me that their basement was haunted and had given me the examples he has I would have told them that they were full of it and probably refused to text them for a few days as punishment for trying to pull a fast one on me. Except Crayon can't lie. Which brings me to this whole new kind of realization. If Crayon can't lie and has told me that he's seen/heard a ghost in his house, then does that mean that "ghosts" actually are real (in some form or another -that is)? And if there is such a thing as a "ghost" does that also mean that there is some type of awareness after we die?

Frankly all of this tends to make my head hurt and also makes me a tad more stressed out soooo (because you guys *rocked* with all of your Tv suggestions - seriously my desk calendar is actually being USED now. it's pretty awesome) I would like to know if anyone else either believes in ghosts or has had any kind of ghost-like experiences. Any sort of insight is appreciated here - and if you think the whole ghost dealio is total bullshit that too would be helpful to know in its own way. If I get some good responses I'll do a follow up post with the best stories and (after I get Crayon's approval) I'll share some of what he's told me about his basement dwelling ghost. Oh - and if you don't want to share your story in the comment section (for personal/anonymity reasons or otherwise) or just think it would be easier to type up elsewhere feel free to email me instead. (See contact info ----->).

Thanks guys. Looking forward to your responses.

Community College

Ok this was not part of my planned post but when I opened up Blogger I somehow accidentally did something nifty with my mouse (its never on purpose) and this little graphic: - the one we Blogger users all know and love as our faithful spelling-fixer-upper - magicked its way down into my post. And I can't just delete it. Look how cute it is! Plus I cant figure out what I did or how I got it down here with me and thus can't replicate the effect and give my little spelling graphic any friends - so instead of being deleted off to Discard-O-Land he's coming along for the ride. I'm sure he feels very special to be the only one of his buddies that got mentioned/placed in a post. Even if I didn't intend it. I have also saved him to my picture folder soooo be sure to be on the lookout for him again. He's too adorable not to come poking back around, looking for more posts to interrupt. I think at some point we'll have to name him. Along with a few other various characters that are trying to weasel their way into my posts.

Anyways! What I really wanted to share will all of you is how much I absolutely cannot stand when I am on the phone and get put on hold/transferred to 8 or 9 various departments and end up talking to a ridiculous amount of people - none of whom seem to know the answer to my question.

I was calling down to one of the community colleges in my state, trying to figure out why I couldn't log into my little See Your School Shit On The Web If We Feel Like Letting You Today thing. Obviously today was not one of those days. I put in my little user name and request a change of password since its been AGES since I had to log in there and - lo and behold - the evil site tells me that my information doesn't match what they have. Well. Last time I checked I knew how to spell my own name. I also happen to know my birth date. (May 14 for those of you that want to send me presents! Like a Kindle! Ohmigod I would looooooooove a Kindle. Apparently you can read blogs and all kinds of fun stuff on them. Not that I expect you guys to send me one since they're like 400 dollars and....this is so not what I'm posting about right now. Damn.) I typed in my little student ID number right too. I checked. Many times! So finally I get the bright idea to call up the little student help center and after a gazillion rings some lady who is clearly not a student, and doesn't care for the breed either, answers in the most nasally voice I have ever heard.

"Yes?"

Yea - no "Student Help Center this is *insert creepy name here*" Just a "yes?" Great way to start off.

"Um for some reason I cant seem to log into your website. I have all my information and I've tried it several times so I know I'm putting it in right. It says it doesn't match what's in your records. Is there any way you can tell me what information you guys have so I can get it changed?

"Well are you putting it all in there right?

.... Uh...did I NOT JUST SAY THAT?! "Yes. I'm doing it right" (*side note: This is where Crayon would say "That's What She Said!" and get this cute smug look on his ridiculously handsome face.)

"Well I guess something don't match what our Data Center has on ya"

Lady. I just said that. Without a Utahan accent that could make birds fly into walls.

"Yes I'm positive that everything I've entered is correct."

"Well I'ma transfer you to the Data Center now."

"Great. Thanks" *terribly 1990's hold music ensues - please god let me avoid hearing "Holiday" by Madonna ever again*

"Data Center" Wow. A greeting. Must be a normal guy.

"Hi I was having trouble logging into the web page and-"

"OhyouneedtheStudentHelpCenterforthatI'lltransferyou!" I can hardly understand what the dude said because he was in such a rush to spit out his words and get me off the phone that his tongue has probably collapsed like a fat cat on a windowsill after spending too much effort chasing the neighbors canary bird. Had the guy even listened to me he would have known that NO - I do not need the Student Help Center or Ms. Utah Nasal back there who is probably sitting at her desk eating pork rinds while laughing about me, the poor girl who will surely never find her way out of this tangled maze of phone tag.

"Yeeeeeesssssss" She draws it out in this annoyed tone of voice. God forbid we have to answer the phone TWICE in an hour.

"Hi - look its me again, the Data Center transferred me back here. I really need to get that information changed so I can log in to the website."

"Oh. Well how come you didn't say so? I haaave a computer."

Wow. Is that what that big square thing sitting on your desk is? Thank you Nancy Drew now I can return to my life with the piece of mind that somewhere in the world there is a person with the deductive abilities to realize that she, like every other office worker on the planet, has a computer available to use at her disposal. This is the part where I seriously considered reaching through the phone and strangling this woman.

"Lovely." (Which is code in my language for "You stupid stupid person.") "So can we change that then?" I give her all my info, wondering if this woman is smart enough to attempt Identity Theft.

*long awkward pause*

"Um hello?" There is no way this lady hung up on me. So help me god I will drive down to Salt Lake and raise hell in the Student Help Center if I must.

"I'm getting it, hold on." Yea - as if she's the one who should be impatient.

"Well it looks like they didn't have your Social Security number so they made one up for ya and that's why you cant log in. So you WEREN'T puttin' all your stuff in right."

"I'm sorry, hold on. They made up a Social Security number for me? They just made one up?"

"That's our policy"

"Your policy is to make up peoples information if you don't have it? Right ok. Well can you give it to me so I can try logging in with that number."

"I'm sorry I cant give out Social Security numbers over the phone." You have got to be kidding me.

"It's not real! It's not a social - its just made up numbers!" I say in disbelief. "Well can I change it and put mine in there instead?"

"No you have to come do that here in person. I don't do that over the phone." (*Another "That's What She Said" for Crayon)

"Well then how am I supposed to get into my account?"

"Here I'll give you the number." Uh - ok? Did we not just establish that we cant do that? I want to say something snotty but instead I remain quiet in case this lady's bipolar memory starts coming back. She gives me my little number and I hang up, thanking her for some unknown reason, to which she promptly slams the phone down on the receiver, as if I'm some sort of huge inconvenience to her. All this for the sake of viewing my transcripts.

I type my little number in, wait patiently for it to load...and....YES! IGOTONTHESTUPIDWEBSITE-NEENERNEENERNEENER!

Only to find out there's a hold on my account which: prevents me from viewing my transcripts.

So now I have to call the Accounts Department, which I promptly do. Only to find out that Monotone Brittany only works from 9-4. It's currently 3:15. Apparently, since I keep getting nothing but her voicemail - leading me to believe she's gone home an hour early, the entire community college is a magnet for incompetence and anti-work syndrome.

I may have to burn it to the ground. If only to improve the gene pool by doing so.

This is why I'm a writer. So that I don't have to deal with the massive amount of insane people that occupy this state on a daily basis.

Alright. Off to go call them again. *Hums "Holiday"*

Popcorn Popping

Me: Tell me what my Christmas present is!

Crayon: No.

Me: Come on!

Crayon: Nope.

Me: You better tell me. Or else.

Crayon: Or else what?

Me: I'm going to fill your car with popcorn kernels, roll up all the windows, and let you have a field day watching our 100 degree weather turn your car into a portable microwave.

Crayon: ......

Me: You're car is gonna smell like popcorn FOREVER.

Crayon: ......

Me: And you'll never get all the popcorn out of the seats and the carpeting.

Crayon: ....

Me: Not to mention you'll attract every seagull in the state with that popcorn smell. I can already see you weaving through traffic trying to escape them as they dive through your sun roof in hopes of a beak-full of buttery delicious-ness.

Crayon: ......Really?

Me: *feigns innocence* Really. That is - unless you want to tell me what my Christmas present is?

Crayon: I'll take my chances with the seagulls.

Me: Oh. My. God. Fine. I'm so doing the popcorn thing. Just you wait.

Crayon: If you put popcorn in my car you can't have your Christmas present.

Me: *pouts* Fine.

I wont put it in his car. I'll just put it on his sunroof. Nice surprise for when he opens it.

Feeling Adored

Terribly sorry for the lack of updates over the last few days. I took a mini vacation to spend some time down in the city with Crayon (who was nothing short of adorable the whole time) and somehow managed to ignore both my laptop and cell phone while down there. It was a lovely break from the book writing and I was once again reminded that I'm the luckiest freakin girl in the world (boyfriend wise- that is). Because seriously I had no idea that there were still guys around that would insist on opening every door, holding your bags when you go shopping, and paying for dinner. Crayon, I kid you not, does all of these things and so much more. He's happy to stay home and watch The Office with me (OHMIGODITSALMOSTSEPTEMBER25TH!) or to go see all the obnoxiously girly movies that are playing in the tri-state area and he endures my drunk-sounding-semi-awake-but-still-trying-to-hold-conversations state that inevitably comes about around 10pm. I have this marvelous ability to both fall asleep at the same time that everyone woman over the age of 65 finishes her cross-stitching and decides its time for bed and to believe that I'm still capable of saying immensely profound things while I'm drifting in and out of la-la land. Very attractive I'm sure. And yet this handsome brown eyed guy lets me ramble on about frappuccino's and fire trucks and only teases me the tiniest bit about it the next day. Definitely a keeper.

I've moved over from that group of women that pooh-pooh's romantic movies as society's way of sucking our gender in to their if-i-buy-*random hair care product goes here*-then-i-would-surely-be-in-love-like-that bullshit to the quietly happy group that can enjoy the chick flicks without wondering if I'll ever by that happy and simply hopes that every other woman has the chance to feel like I do and be adored like I currently am. I do wish that our culture wasn't so judgemental - be it on the basis of appearance or money or upbringing but fortunately for us there seem to still be a few good guys hanging around that aren't looking for an airbrushed type A model, but rather a real sort of girl that they can try to build a life with.

Also any guy that willingly lets his girl post about him on her blog under the nom de plume "crayon" has got to be one confident dude.

Frank

Me: So what are you up to tonight?

Crayon: Heading up to Mel's place to work on the car. I miss it. And the bunnies.

Me: The bunnies?

Crayon: Yeah. The ones that run around in Mel's backyard. I've named them all.

Me: You've named the bunnies? Let's hear it.

Crayon: Furry One, Furry Two, Momma Furry, Baby Furry, and Frank.

Me: Ummm....Frank?

Crayon: Yeah. Frank. He's the fearless one. I've caught him chasing the deer twice!

Me: Frank. The bunny. Chases deer?

Crayon: Yeah. Duh.

Me: *I'm-not-buying-this-pause*

Crayon: He tackles them too....

King Of The Flip Flops

Dont you just love being right? Or, for that matter, who doesnt love when they get to tell someone that may or may not have been teasing them about something that they themselves were in fact RIGHT? And even better than being right is when, on the rare occassion, something percieved to be odd, different, or just plain out of the ordinary - is actually THE COOLEST THING IN THE WORLD.

J (the boyfriend/fiance - who will henceforth be known as Crayon) has, since we started dating, been teasing me because of the fact that my second toe (the one normal people wear toe rings on) is slightly longer than all my other toes. However, today I have news for him, and anyone else that might have been subject to this form of discriminatory prefrence when it comes to toes.

Stephanie Klein (of the blog Greek Tragedy - see the blog list ---->) has not only mentioned this affliction/talent. She has given it a name.

*ahem* Royalty Toe.

Brilliant isn't it? SO HA!

No longer will my Royalty Toe take any negative criticism, or poking fun at. It will stand proud - nay King-Like, to be compared with all the other nifty body anomalies such as joint dislocation, ear dancing, double-jointedness, and all varieties of tongue origami.

And since I can do none of the above I am quite proud of my Royalty Toe.

I will be spending the day wearing new flip flops as a reward for my Royalty Toe's modesty in light of this new discovery.


Lizzy