Congratulations Graduate!

Is it just me,or does EVERYONE feel the need to void their bladder  

upon decent in an aircraft? I am 12 minutes away from landing in  

Winnipeg,Manitoba to attend my baby sisters highschool graduation;  

(this is a misnomer because the reader should know my sister is 5"10  

and capable of taking down the loch ness monster). There comes a time  

in everyones life where you realize your youth has escaped you,and for  

myself,at 21,it had finally happened. Now coupled with the other  

neurotic, psychosocial,and mental issues my psychologist was currently  

tackeling,he could add this to the list of nightmares I present him  

with on a bi-weekly basis. Poor guy,honestly, being my shrink has to  

be THE worst job in the world. I'm a fucking nightmare,and being  

responsible for untangeling that is a heurculean task.

Back to the point, those in attendance at this event will be, my  

sibling, Eurocandy( her European boyfriend she picked up at boarding  

school), Platypuses family,Platypus, and Popsicle. Just so you know, these  

Platypus kin and Popsicle get along about as well as Platypuses and  

Popsicles in the real world. The have Zero use for one another and I  

imagine the Platypus will use all of it's claws and various water  

mammal skills against Popsicle. This should be good.... I've never been one to pray to a higher power, but this was most certainly the time. 

Night One:

 I arrived at the airport and descended the stairs with all the other passengers, wondering why the fuck I had come to Winnipeg, easily THE dullest city in Canada. Its kind of like our Iowa. Anyways, Platypus had instructed me that I was to look for my sibling in the crowd and she would bring me to her waiting vehicle. I wandered around a part of the terminal that was foreign to me, Platypus had gotten Air Chaos in the divorce and I was forced to take a West Jet flight and wind up somewhere I had never ever seen in my life. Those of us really LOVE when you thrust us into new and unexpected circumstance like this. Its an absolute fucking  nightmare. After wandering aimlessly for a few moments I spotted my sibling and her Eurocandy coming towards me. I'm going to stop here and mention why I have decided to call him Eurocandy. After attending a homosexual filled thanksgiving with my sibling, the gays went a little bonkers over Eurocandy and gave him his name. I decided I liked it and thus, it stuck. He was one of few men I had ever seen my sibling around that actually dwarfed her. I loved this because I am always feeling midget-ized and felt having a taste of her own medicine would be good for her. 

Upon retrieving my bag my sibling was shocked that anyone could travel anywhere without 9 bags and a carry-on for 4 days. I'm amazing what can I say. Once outside, my sibling, Eurocandy, and I waited for Platypus. It dawns on me now that I spend a large chunk of my life WAITING on Platypus, but thats a whole other can of worms. All the sudden we saw a bright blue Ford Escape coming towards us with loud rap music coming from it. THIS, is Platypuses M.O., she loves her "black-music", her words, not mine, and likes to blare it loudly from her incredibly 'white' vehicle. The more characteristically 'white', the better. "Holy crap Platypus! this is not the VMA's. Dial it down a notch!" was my reaction, however I opted for the more subtle, "turn this shit down". Platypus is a hot damn mess at the best of times, but she has these moments where I think she wants to be Tupac and I have to burst her bubble back to reality. I recall one specific instance in Vancouver in a rented Crown Vic that always makes me smile; The car was silent, and all you could hear was me gnawing on my tuna fish sandwich. Out of the blue, Platypus very sternly and seriously with the same inflection one would use to remind themselves to pick up the dry cleaning, "I need to get a Ludacris CD". I am 80% sure I choked on my food. I wanted to explain to my mother that she was white, and that white mothers of two do not frequently purchase his album. But sometimes, as is typical with most of my family, I like to let the lunacy play out so I can laugh about it later. After driving around and having to tell Plat several times to turn her gangsta rap down, we reached my hotel and I got to check in and have a much awaited shower.

I walked up to the random concierge who clearly had not slept in months and explained that I was Popsicles daughter and he had made arrangements for me to check in prior to his arrival. She listed two reservations under Popsicles name, A room with 2 beds, and an executive suite. "Well, the suite certainly sounds like Popsicle, but I know he changed the reservation when I decided to attend so I think it is the second one.." I explained to the shrew at the counter. She took my card and gave me a room key and I went on my way. Upon arriving in my room, I was 90% sure I had made an error. This room was the size of a walk in closet and had 2 of the smallest beds I have ever seen. I believe " what the fuck!" was my exact reaction to this much awry chain of events. But I was exhausted so I decided to shower and order some meatloaf. Popsicle wouldn't arrive till 1am so I decided to get some sleep. 

I have enough issues sleeping in strange locals due to my anxiety disorder, but this hot mess of a room was not making it much easier. By the time I finally passed out I was awoken by a "rat tat tat" at the door. Fuck. A serial killer. If you think i'm kidding, I am so not. This is part of generalized anxiety disorder. Everything from a knock at the door to a kitten sets me off like an asshole. Life worrys me. Nevermind some strange asshole at the door. Once I realized it was Popsicle I groggily opened the door and asked him why the fuck he didn't think to use his provided room key. He announced that he was in a suite upstairs and that this location was not suitable for him. Fuck. Well excellent. Now i get to uproot my ass and relocate to a whole other wing of the hotel. Popsicle seemed set on doing it right then, but i got back in bed, put on my eyeshades and pulled the covers over my head. To any sane person this is a gesture to fuck off, but Popsicle was not copying me. He insisted on planning for the next days move. I was over it and kicked him out. I proceeded to take an Ativan, an inanely common occurrence around Popsicle, and went back to bed. 

Day Two: 

At 8:30am I was promptly woken via phone by Popsicle who suggested I get my shit together so I could move. I had to get dressed for the siblings graduation brunch and convocation and move my shit all at once. This was not going to be a good morning. And of course, Popsicle had to show up to stress me out/move me along midway through and inquired as to why my skirt and top didn't seem to match. "WELL, if I didn't have people pacing around my room and rushing me about I'd be a bit more together wouldn't I?". It's well established I have anxiety, But popsicle is about a million times worse about most things.Its fucking exhausting and he should really be consulting a professional. I rallied my ass, moved my stuff, and we went down to the main floor for some breakfast. We hadn't been sitting more than 5 minutes when I start playing with Popsicles iPad and creating an aquatic sea scape when I hear, "SHITTTT!". " WHAT?, POPSICLE, WHAT IS WRONG?", I contemplated asking if Timmy fell down the well but I sensed from the sheet white color he had turned that this was not the time. " I LEFT YOUR SISTERS GRADUATION DRESS ON THE PLANE!"... I Covered my mouth in shock, partly to conceal my laughter. Before his heart could skip another beat Popsicle was on the phone with his over-payed travel god getting it tracked down. The gentleman's name was Scott and he said he would call Popsicle ASAP with any developments. Any chance of this day going at all smoothly was about to fly right out the fucking window. 

It has been explained to me that due to my anxiety disorder I tend to pant rather than breathe like a normal person. I had never really understood this until I saw Popsicle in his state of despair. I managed to calm him mildly and we got into a cab and headed for my siblings school. I had wanted to bring Platypus in at this juncture because of her avid air travel contacts, but Popsicle forbid it. He had a look on his face that was about on par with " hey dad i'm pregnant", so I decided to obey his wishes, as much as it pained me to do so for comedic reasons. Once we arrived at the school, Popsicle was still flipping out and upon seeing my sibling began sweating bullets. My sister is terrifying a the best of times, I can only imagine her wrath if her custom made grad dress did not arrive. This shit is HILARIOUS when it isn't happening to you personally. Popsicle is a hot mess, and this little incident had proven me right. Every time she was within 30cm's of him, Popsicle would flip out. He spent most of his time on the phone with Scott and how my sibling didn't catch on that something was up, I was shocked. Dad has all the ticks of a lime diseased mouse, he is not skilled at being subtle when trouble is afoot. I attempted to offer him prescription anti-psychotics to hide his freakish franticness but he was having none of it. 

Once we got into the gym, and were waiting for everyone to get their shit together so I could see my sibling convocate, Popsicle told Platypus and my aunt what he had done. Platypus just about died. She loves to think Popsicle is totally incompetent so when shit like this happens she is over the bloody moon about it. She wished Popsicle luck in his location of the gown because she knew my sibling would rip him in half if he did not manage to get it to her before he had to confess his mistake. Once the grad finally started Popsicle got more nervous. The closer we got to her graduation dinner, the more trouble he knew was coming to him. When each graduate was on stage, they would announce their accomplishments, if they were graduating with honors, and what schools they were accepted to, as well as where they planned to attend. WHAT A FUCKING NIGHTMARE. Nothing makes you feel like more of an asshole than watching 90 17-year olds have their triumphs listed to you in sequence. NOTHING. I am aware that I myself have many accomplishments, but this bullshit was seriously out of hand. If i had a gun with me, I would have used it. Only one fuck up didn't graduate with honors of any kind. She looked like a slut, but If i was her, being the only loser in the entire graduating class to NOT have honors, I'd have jumped off a cliff. I'm sorry, I don't give a shit that your child is amazing. You payed for this so I have no Idea why it needs to go on parade. Anywho, once they got to my sibling I was about to wet my pants. Platypus looked on proudly, Popsicle, hot mess that he is, was fucking with the camera and managed to miss the whole thing, and I was sitting on the edge of my chair beaming like an idiot. I was easily the proudest person there. I did not expect to be so excited but it snuck up on me. You would have  thought Britney Spears was graduating from my immensely excited look. Although my sibling looked destained, I screamed anyways. How often does your only younger sister graduate?! Once. The answer is once. Midway through, Popsicle informed me that Scott had located the package and Platypus agreed to pick it up when she went back to the airport. It really was a team effort from everyone but myself. I was just thrilled to see my parents working together, apparently years of loathing had gotten old and they decided to be a team. 

After all the graduating, we went for dinner at the best steakhouse in Winnipeg, Selected by my VEGAN sibling. Why a vegan would choose to go somewhere she couldn't eat anything i have no idea. But regardless it was the BEST Meal I have had in a while. We went with a friend of hers and her family of brazilians. Let me tell you, The brazilians have a passion for meat that cannot be matched. Also the more it bleeds, the happier they are. It's similar to how starving lions react to fresh meat. My sibling also introduced me to a tower of, and I cannot stress what an under-sell this is, THE BEST ONION RINGS EVER CREATED!! Holy smokes were these little tempura battered messes good. After this gigantic meal, we went back to the hotel room to rest/ prepare for the hot mess that would be the next day. 

Day 3:
On the third day of grad-fest at my siblings school, was the big grad dinner with everyones family and assorted dates. Since Popsicle had located the package, aka, my siblings dress, I was slightly less excited about the drama that would occur. It being Winnipeg, Popsicle and I did virtually nothing all day other than playing with his iPad, so we were steeped to venture outside of the room. Once we got dressed we went to mingle with my aunts and Platypus at the bar. While awaiting my siblings arrival, we ordered champagne and Popsicle informed us that my sibling had requested he send the car service for her at her party. Because clearly, her shit was in top organizational form... This is sort of typical of my sibling, she just assumes Popsicle will send for her wherever her location  and straighten out and shit of hers that is awry. I, being the older sibling am often left to figure things out for myself, or if I am to receive assistance I am informed that I should really have been thinking clearly. Apparently, nobody expects my sister and her whirlwind tornado to think for itself. Once she finally arrived at the bar we gathered the group and headed up to the designated area. 


This is where shit began to hit the fan at a rapid rate. Platypus and Popsicle were learning from the photography team that they could not have the 15 or so photos they desired and would need to stay within a space of 3-4 as to not take up the entire fucking evening. This is pretty typical of the circus, we seem to think that the world revolves around a central point, and that point is our hot mess of a family. After hearing Plat and Pop discuss what various poses my sibling would need to take, we finally settled on 4. The team of individuals taking these pictures pretty much looked at us like we were right out of our tree. I don't blame them, I myself was trying to locate the nearest alcoholic beverage to my human! SO long carb free diet! As long as my entire family is involved I find it best to drink Heavily. I felt for my sibling who could not partake in alcohol and considered slipping her an Ativan. After we ruined the lives of the photographers, the clan moved on to the middle of the cocktail area where we proceeded to fawn over various camera difficulties. My mother did not comprehend I knew how to work a camera and requested I find Eurocandy at once,as this was a 'blue' job. Popsicle attempted to remedy the situation, but he struggles to turn ON the camera let alone preform diagnostics. I was then instructed to take photos of Platypus and my aunts in their outfits so they could show them to grandmother. Platypus made a huge deal of this and pretty much told me not to fuck it up. Apparently, taking pictures of 3 people all at once was more than my little bird brain could muster.... Once everyone had been photographed I marched up to the bar and took the nearest glass of white wine I could locate and proceeded to knock it back like I was at a kegger. This was rapidly increasing my anxiety and I had decided on self-medicating rather than jumping out the window nearest me. 


Once we all got into the dinner area and found our table we were informed by Platypus that she was required to sign a waiver that nobody at our table would get out of hand. This was a pretty lost cause as I was rapidly becoming more intoxicated. My sibling then shared a story from her convocation, saying that the head of graduation or whatever had come up to her and said " oh! you decided not to wear makeup to grad! Thats so cute!". I immediately disliked her. Having been picked on for most of my education up until highschool where I became a D cup, and people started noticing me, I had much experience with these types of girls. Basically, their sole premise is to make themselves feel more important by telling you your shit is out of line. And upon becoming much more sure of my place in the social order of things, I had become accustom to telling these sorts of girls to shove it up their ass. I would also like to state that if any of you have a younger sibling you will understand my distain for this girl. Having a younger sibling, even if they could easily beat the tar out of you like my amazon sister, you still feel the need to protect them from assholes like this.My sibling suffers from being far too polite to people she should really punch in the face. I informed her I would like to meet this bitch and set her straight about what's what. My sibling told me that she was wearing a dress she had made a week ago. I decided my plan of attack would be to go up to this girl and say " oh your speech was nice! Oh your dress looks homemade thats so cute!". Everyone but my sister seemed to share my enthusiasm for this comment. Has I run in to her in the bathroom, that is exactly the speech I would make. My sibling was determined naturally to keep us as far apart as possible. 


After all the endless speeches and videos I had come to learn were going to be a theme of the grad festivities, came the dancing. I do not consider myself a strong dancer. In fact,  I am positive I would win "So you think you can't dance?" if it ever becomes a show. But I decided to participate with my sibling and Popsicle, As well as my siblings brazilian friend and her ballin' ass brazilian family. The brazilians throw down, let me tell you. Once we all started dancing in a circle and fist pumping, a japanese friend of my sibling and his parents had joined in. This would not be exciting normally, but they were in full on kimonos and rocking it japan style. I don't know if I have ever been so excited to dance with someone in my life. This guys little 4 foot asian momma in her ballin' kimono was fist pumping. I just about wet myself. This was easily the highlight of the weekend. By that time, It was 11pm and everyone who was not a date of a graduate was kicked the fuck out. This was fine with me because I was pretty close to being on my face, and as long as my family is present at important events, my life will NOT be together. 




P.S- I forgot to mention in my rant about the mean girl, but halfway through dinner, my hot mess of an aunt got up, and left. She decided she had enough graduation and without a goodbye peaced it. This is very much typical of her, however Platypus was sure she was in the bathroom, and upon learning that she was off the reservation, was not overly shocked. I can't wait till people think I am out of my tree enough to just bounce in the middle of a meal. That will be the day...

Homeward Bound.

It may not come as a shock that a control freak like myself with severe anxiety problems is a shitty traveler. I truly do not trust in the organizational skills of others and this causes my human a lot of stress. Also suffering from a generalized anxiety disorder means that pretty much everything causes me to flip out to some degree. Sometimes I wish I had a specific anxiety or phobia related to gazelles or peeing in public but no, I need to flip about everything. And it is bloody exhausting let me tell you, especially at 5:30am Cuban time.

This little tale follows my adventures in leaving Cuba. I feel I need to preface it by saying that on vacation, once it is time to go home I want to be home NOW and have zero patience for the needs and desires of others. 

The Cuban airport is a hot mess. It is about as organized as a retierment party  

put together by a sealion. I've never known an airport to completely  

shut down at night, Never mind one in a country who's main source of  

income is tourists. But whatever Cuba. You dance to the beat of your  

own drummer. Upon arival, the "staff" behind the counter seemed  

confused as to why the hell people were there. Newsflash, maybe we  

want to get on a fucking plane. Crazy.I know. I detest waiting of any variety and lines are my least favorite if I was to make a list. Albeit at this time I was second in line, I was still horribly displeased. I hate waiting on others to get their shit together. I really do, If someone who's mental state resembles a psychological crime scene at the best of times can be organized, I expect it of others. Once the asshole at the desk got us checked in we went to the "cafeteria" and got a can of Pringles for breakfast and proceeded to security.

Upon going through "security" things got stressful! Everyone is trying to explain that my  extra sunblock is not going to make it through security and proceeds  

to flip out. Let me explain, this is an airport that opens for the day  

ok? Clearly it's priorities are not on par with international  

standards. As everyone proceeds to flip shit I toss my bag,lipglosses  

and liquids a stray,on the xray and walk through. Then I collected my  

belongings. This is exactly what went down. I couldn't decide if this  

was trusting or stupid, but it got me on my way so I wasn't concerned.

The waiting area is on par with a second world mall. Horribly  

disorganized . Upon trying to decide what damn gate we were, we  

realized they do not provide such information to travellers as to how  

to get the fuck out of this airport. Excellente. This has become my new  

catch phrase because it can be so easily meaningful and sarcastic  

while expanding my Spanish skills Dora the explorer style. The boys  

decided to discuss their bowel situation at length and informed us  

ladies that they needed to "destroy some porcelain". 2 minutes after  

they left for the bathroom they had come back defeated saying none of the  

stalls have toilet paper, this is common in Cuba so none of us were  

shocked. After watching them fuss and fidget I finally went into the  

ladies room to retreive some. I rolled out about as much as one would  

need to wipe an elephant and trotted back to our little home base. In  

the year and a half I've known Mancandy,he's never actually looked SO  

elated to see me. The look on his face was simmilar to the one I'm  

sure Kate Middelton had when Wills finalllllly proposed. Like a facial  

fist pump. The boys went off to do their thing and strode back content  

as clams. This over agressive reaction to toilet paper taught me  

something about the male race: much like with babys,  

constipation=cranky. Or to get Freudian about it, men are permanently  

stuck in the anal phase of development,and will never reach a higher  

psychosocial stage of development. Platypus has always told me men are  

either simple or stupid or both, this Is her evidence.

When an hour later the Cuban airport seemed to have come around to it "organized" self, it was still a hot mess. I could no longer bare the stupidity and decided to  

medicate. Seriously, they do this once a week, at least, by this point  

I expect it to be a well oiled machine. If I was in charge I could  

have that shit in shape in 2 days I will tell you that. Organization  

and clarity are good friends of mine. Those of us with anxiety  

disorders need this sort of coordination otherwise we tend to go  

postal. Haha you wana see a hot mess? THAT is a hot mess.

When we finally boarded our plane we found our seats, and were hit  

with yet another disaster. Some individual,who did not show any  

immediate sign of being mentally retarted was in Mancandy's window seat. This  

smallish east Indian chick had taken it upon herself to select her  

prefered seating. Mancandy has enough issues in standardized seating  

as is so any time people on planes take it upon themselves to be  

comfortable with no regard for others, I tend to go a bit balistic.  

Especially cuz he's too mellow to say anything then is agrivated by  

the circumstances for the rest of the trip. I however, lack this  

filter that allows fools to do as they please. I do not find them cute  

and do not suffer them gladly. But he refuses to let me in my sweetest  

most caring angel voice ask the bitch to vacate and return to her  

correct searing. Just cuz you didn't get to sit next to your bff  

doesn't mean you can take my boyfriends seat to accomidate yourself. I  

had half a mind to sit next to her and rip ass for the rest of the  

flight but I'd like to continue a sexual relationship with my  

boyfriend who is seated next to me. But really people who does that???  

The browns that's who. Sometimes I wonder why I don't just tell people  

what I'm thinking of them, then I remembered I poped an Ativan before  

the flight and that I no longer cared. As I'm writing this,a small  

child began crying on my 6 hour flight and I may need to break out into  

other antipsychotic options in order to get out of this alive.

While we were waiting to take off on our flight I couldn't help but notice how retarded the flight attendant looked attempting to demonstrate how the plane allows you to look like a total asshole in a safety situation. At this time, I started thinking about a career in flight attending and came up with this list:

Why I'd make a shitty flight attendant.

1.I hate planes in general,they're dirty and smell.

2. Being an attendant means not being in control of the plane and  

although being a passanger isn't better, standing in the isles without  

a seatbelt is worse.

3. You have to be perky and plesant and smile at people getting on  

with a baby about to make sure your work day comes with a migrane. I  

as a traveller may glare,although rude in some circles.

4. Wearing the same thing every day would not allow me to take full  

advantage of my trully kick ass wardrobe.

5. If I decide I've had enough of my surroundings, which happens  

often, I cannot easily jump ship.

6. Im somewhat claustrophobic and most airplanes are the size of a jumbo size tampon.

As I'm typing this installment on the plane, seat stealers bff is  

sitting infront of us and has decided to start loudly flirting with  

the DJ next to her while his plane comrade is passed out next to him.  

I only know he's a DJ because at that octive,information is hard to  

miss. People astound me sometimes with their crazyness. Haha now she's  

explaining to dumdum how tips work... Goood lord. 1 hour 45 minutes left on this god  

forsaken airplane. Seat stealers bff is having what I can only deduce  

as the loudest conversation to ever take place on a plane. I myself,  

am known as a loud individual. Mostly when I'm drunk. I feel because  

I'm tiny I need to make sure people are aware I'm here,but this bitch  

has no excuse. To give the reader an update on the DJ she's Been  

flirting with for 4 hours and 15 minutes now, he's a Ginger, and he  

has a handlebar on his face not dissimilar to the colonel himself. I  

am not exadurating. This guy is a mess. Oh and also, he thinks he's a  

gangster, obviously. This situation really needs a seatbelt. And  

clearly the one on this aircraft is not sufficient. On a worse note, I  

beleive I went to highschool with seat stealers bff. Only in the hot  

disaster that's been my day would this occur. "AHAHAHAH!!" she screams as a result of some dumb thing this douche just said. fuck. I swear if this chick tosses her hair and laughs one more time I'm bout  to pop a cap in her ass. "not the story I just told you,I was 13, ah  

this is good.." seriously. These 2 people should not be speaking.  

She's one of those dumb girls who thinks she IS the greatest thing  

ever,and he's a g'd up Ginger colonel saunders. Am I the only person  

alive that thinks these people need to stay as far apart as possible?  

My iPod lacks a "holy shit stop fucking talking for 5 damn minutes"  

setting  for volume to accomidate your loud sexual misguidedness. So zip it! Got it? K  

good.

Since the crapfest airline I wound up on played one movie for a 6 hour  

flight , and I cannot shoot myself, I decided to continue to doccument  

the worst courtship known to mankind.

They have now removed their communal arm rest, this is a huge step.it  

communicates to those around them that they are "intimate". I know  

this because Mancandy refuses to remove ours incase we happen to touch  

as a result. He claims not to be clousterphobic but the valiant effort  

he put into not sharing any space with me physical,air,armrest or  

otherwise with me on an aircraft tells me and most psychiatrists  

differently. At this time we must also note that colonel asshat is  

infact sharing his armrest with his friend.

2:11pm - we learn douchefella rents an accerage from his dad slightly  

outside the city. What a classy SOB. His very own spot on daddys  

land!!! Cuz I can tell he's a farmer type,likes to get dirt under his  

nails... My panties are wet, I dunno about you guys ;)!

2:14pm - the odd couple is discussing the cropping of canine ears.  

Apparently this is news to douche and he is flabergasted that this  

exists. I took a break from crazyness to check in with Augustana on my  

iPod. But when I returned he was explaining how they cut tails off  

kids and stuff.... This guy is a CATCHHH!! You go girl!!!!

2:34pm - clearly the odd couple has broken up but, in other exciting  

news, there's a battle of the babies in the isle. The two are staring  

at eachother fascinated!! If my sibling was here she would pee  

herself. My sibling is bonkers for babies. BONKERS. One baby craped  

itself. And the battle ended. Orange baby 1. Blue baby 0. Maybe next  

time blue baby.... Maybe next time.

2:54pm- Missy has woken up from her nap and is explaining to douche in  

detail how falling asleep with gum in her mouth feels. And then  

explaining to him how to sleep effectively on a plane.  Seriously  

folks. This is the riveting conversation on my homebound flight. Also,  

when I begin an airplane trip I set a timer on my phone so I have a  

countdown of exactly how much longer I need to suffer. I keep checking  

it which drives mancandy nuts. I explained I could ask him every 5  

minutes as to how much longer, but this is easier and less annoying  

for everyone. Especially those of us with anxiety/control/crappy math  

skill issues.

2:59pm - douche is discussing his moustache growing skills! Why anyone  

with red hair would want to add more red hair to their body I have NO  

fucking  clue. Also, he breifly rapped about it. People, I am legit  

not making this up.

3:02pm - we learn asshat has a severe sunburn. Miss thang offers to  

rub some on him if she had any on her. "I freckle, but I notice I  

don't normally have so many"... Well newsfash dipshit you're a Ginger.  

Your hair and sun tan skills are an epic fail.

Then we finallllllllly landed at home and I proceeded to rush Mancandy to customs, I don't trust the organizational skill of others and so I like to be first in line to avoid waiting for other stupid people to get their shit together. The fact that I lose my shit at almost every point in the travel process is just another reason why my life is NOT together. 

Anxiety(n): realizing you are completely insane

Hello followers,
I realize I have not kept up with my blog in the last few months and I apologize. This is due to the fact that my life as of the last 6 months has become a complete and utter nightmare. I was working and going to school full time and rarely found a moment to void my human of unused fluids, let alone blog about it. To anyone attempting to work a full time job and go to school full time, I salute you, and think you are completely out of your damn tree. But, to each their own.
Anyways, what resulted from this careless reckless disregard for my own life was the development of a very real anxiety disorder. As my psychiatrist explained, if I did not straighten myself out, and fast I could really do some harm to myself. He went on to ask what it was that was causing my anxiety. -Let me just branch off at this moment and explain that is this time, my cat had been urinating on my carpet for about 4 months straight and after working 10 hours and going to class, to come home and clean up cat piss was about enough on its own to make anyone want to jump out a ten story building. Not to mention someone like myself who is generally tense on a daily basis. I learned 2 things from this: (1) My cat is an asshole. (2) Tears do not get cat urine out of a carpet, take that Billy Mays. Anyways, when I proceeded to loose my shit at my large egyptian psychiatrist, whom we will refer to as Pit-Camel, for his likeness to a hybrid pit-bull/camel mix, he explained that my cats urination was probably due to the fact that I was so tense. I did not appreciate his candor on the matter. Especially since the cat made me want to scream on a daily basis and I did not see her letting up any time soon. Although the vet had charged me $1000 in the weeks leading up to my meeting with  the Pit-Camel to diagnose the cat with an anxiety disorder and prescribe her pussy valium, I did not appreciate being blamed for my own stress-inducing situation. If he was going to give me a lecture on what I had done to myself I was ready to tell him to save it and fork over the Ativan.
One the Pit-Camel had decided I had generalized anxiety disorder, and clearly some other issues he did not feel like mentioning, he gave me a variety of uppers downers and candy corn that would have made Karen Walker proud. I aspire to one day be her, and figure this cocktail of antipsychotic medication was defs going to put me on my way to success in that department. I left his office with a lot to think about, and let me tell you, as someone with anxiety disorder, I already statistically spend 60% of my day worrying, and was not impressed with the heaping pile of shit he had dumped on my plate. However, the idea of Ativan intrigued me since I knew that could easily knock out an elephant in crisis, I was steeped to try some. As a rule folks, If it melts on your tongue, its worth participating in, let me tell you...
Upon confirming with Popsicle and Platypus that my psychiatrist thought I was right out of my mind, they both seemed supportive, although not horribly shocked by my diagnosis. I am also the same irrational individual that wants to leave for any air travel 2 hours in advance to account for any acts of god I might encounter on my way to my aircraft. So, I could kind of see where they might be drawing some conclusions.
A month into treatment, some of the fog had cleared and I came to a very important epiphany - I am completely bat shit crazy and really need to seek some sort of professional help if I am scrubbing my toilet 3 times a day and vacuuming anything and everything on a frighteningly regular basis. I could also have been high on lysol fumes, I don't know. I'm not a doctor. The worst part about dealing with my anxiety I had come to realize was the overwhelming amount of fear I was to be assaulted with for no reason during most of my day. It was this large volume of what I knew were completely insane and irrational little concerns that nobody in any sort of mentally healthy state could be feeling that prompted me to seek help.
The Pit-Camel had been trying for a while to get me to see a psychologist. I strongly dislike deep cathartic amounts of feelings and really was not steeped on the idea. The idea that this experience could result in me sobbing uncontrollably and using vast amounts of kleenex, which really has not done much for the environment in terms of 'going green', really pissed me off. The idea that It would be my own fault that I had completely fucked up any emotional and mental stability I had left also did not sit too well. Its like being mentally constipated and it really is a pain in the ass, pun intended. Finally, my new psychologist who has yet to gain a nickname, due to the fact he has yet to see and regret what the heck he signed up for, called. It was already a relatively stressful night for me, for no reason other than the absolutely ludicrous amount of bullshit bouncing around in my brain, when a call came through from something saying 'rehab' in the caller ID title. Because I have anxiety and my brain does not operate like a normal human, let me take you on a little adventure as to what was going through my mind immediately following this phone call:
1. Do not answer! It's probably some coked out drug addict who wants to find out where I live and come eat my cats and harvest my organs for snake food.
2. Text Mancandy so if he finds my dismembered carcass upon arriving to visit me he will know what to tell the cops.
3. Holy shit I'm going to die.
4. How did an addict get my phone number.

After going through that irrational little shit show, I listened to the voicemail and found it was only my new shrink calling to make a meeting.
NEWSFLASH ASSHOLE!, when calling to make an appointment with someone already experiencing anxiety do not add to it by calling from a rehab facility after 8:30pm. Its not smart, and it sent me into a frenzy for which I required valium tea and an Ativan to come down from. Do not fuck around with anxious people, we blow shit way out of proportion. So far, I was not liking my new doctor. He had yet to meet me and was already causing me more problems. Once I spoke with him directly and came down from my drug high, I managed to see that I was excited at the idea of meeting someone who might be able to tell me why I am such a complete fucking nightmare to myself and others, and apparently any wildlife in my vicinity. It was this excitement that prompted me to blog about my experience in my coming sessions as I believe that the only way to cope with mental illness is to be able to see the humor. So, stay tuned for what I am sure will be a whole host of reasons why my life is not together from a licensed professional.