"Soul Mates Never Die"

Pet peeves. Everyone has them. One of my biggest ones is when people use a few choice words incorrectly.

1) The first word is nauseous. When someone says, "I'm nauseous." What they are saying is, "I make other people sick." The correct form of the word, nausea, is to say, "I feel nauseated."

2) The next word that makes my brain feel like nails on a chalk board is karma. Now, I know it is mostly because a lot of people are not familiar with Hinduism, and only mimic what they hear. That does not excuse the fact that people are mistaking karma with dharma and The Golden Rule. If you don't know what The Golden Rule is, then you probably have A) Never been to church, B) Haven't had lessons in morality, or C) Are just a very bad person. The Golden Rule states, "Do Unto Others as You Would Have Done Unto You." BASICALLY, don't be a jerk if you don't want other people to be a jerk to you. Dharma is someone's essential character and conforming to who that character is supposed to be; whereas, karma is what you accrue when you do or don't follow your dharma. For example, if your dharma in this life were to be a teacher but you wanted to go out for being a singer instead, then you would accrue bad karma for not following your dharma. Comprende? So, then in your next life, for getting bad karma, your dharma would be to be something less than a teacher and you would be one step lower on the ladder from enlightenment. Now that I have explained it all, please don't mix it up any more or I might have to kick you in the shins.

3) The next word isn't so much a word, as an idea. It's the idea of soul mates. Now, I don't necessarily believe that anyone's belief of this word is wrong, but I refuse to believe that there is just one soul mate out there for me. Especially if that soul mate has, died, married the wrong person or screwed up so badly we are destined to be on star crossed paths for the rest of this life. Does that mean that I'm never allowed to experience that kind of happiness for a simple twist of fate? I can't believe that. So, when I asked around, I got varying ideas on the concept, none of which I consider wrong. It's like asking someone what they believe about God. These are answers in which no one can be sure of because none of us have the same manual entitled, "All the answers to the hard questions."

When I asked my best friend, she told me that she doesn't believe that soul mates are pre-destined, but that when you meet someone whom you want to be with forever, then you make them your soul mates. I asked my cousin, and she said that she doesn't believe in them straight out. I don't think that this is wrong either. She is a lot more logical than I. I still watch Disney Princess movies for crying out loud and think, "Yeah, I'm almost 24, but that can still happen to me." I learned from someone whom I believe to be one of my soul mates, that you have more than one out there. You have soul mates for friends, family, and loves of your life. I used to be of the school that there was only one out there, but that just cannot be. My belief in soul mates correlates to my belief about fate. Fate shows you multiple doors to go through and you choose which one. I don't believe that fate has all your life destined and mapped out for you. That belief would erase all existence of free will. We can't get rid of that either. I could be wrong about all my beliefs in this department, but as someone who was once very close to me said constantly, "Who knows?"

Song of the Day: "Star Crossed" by Scary Kids Scaring Kids/"Sleeping with Ghosts" by Placebo

A Sheriff Murdered Someone in my Apartment

When I tell someone I pay 660 for a 1 bed 1 bath apartment in Aurora, CO, people get appalled. Then they tell me how you can get one for 500 down the street. So I start asking them important questions about these miraculously cheap apartments:

1. Do they have a balcony? No, you have to pay extra.
2. Do they have a dishwasher? I don't know.
3. Do they have a walk in closet? No
4. Do they have a full size washer and dryer in unit at no extra cost? ... no
5. Do they have a wood-burning fire place? NO! Why would anyone need that?
6. Do they have vaulted ceilings? No, what are those? Oh, it's when the ceiling goes up with the roof to give the illusion of more space. Doesn't seem that important... SHUT UP!
7. Do police patrol 12 x at night on a regular schedule to make sure you're safe even though you're right across the street from Buckley Air Base? No, actually there are a lot of sketchy people and no security.



And THAT is why they are 160 dollars less than mine. My new apartment is AMAZING you guys! Of course the journey to this fictionally-great apartment was the adventure. Although my best friend told me she was going to spend the whole weekend helping me un-pack, she ended up making a date with some random, Mormon boy the night of my big move. I have never been angry with this girl in our seven-year friendship. NEVER. Therefore, I did not know how to vocalize said emotions. Never the less, that did not alter our time restriction of 5 p.m. so that Skye could drive home in time to get pretty for her date.



Skye and I ended up leaving the house at 10 a.m. and he said he'd meet us in Evergreen around noon. We started our drive off with a stop at McDonalds (gasp! the horror of fast food!) for McGriddle sandwhiches and orange juice. We couldn't remember how late they served breakfast and the 27 minutes it took to get to the one off of I-25 and Longmont exit, we argued over whether it was 10 a.m. or 10:30 a.m. As soon as we drove up and we got to the drive-through, the breakfast menu was still up! We finished ordering at 10:27 a.m., just as the lady with the stern look on her face, because she has all the power, flipped the sign to the lunch specials. Apparently, we were both wrong about the time. So, in case you are either A) in a crunch for time, B) having an inkling to kill your insides, or C) craving their AMAZING orange juice (Seriously, why is it so good?), remember that McDonalds stops serving breakfast at 10:27 a.m.



Now, I love Skye, but her driving scares the living day lights out of me. Why? It is mostly a personal problem because of an accident I had gotten in a few years ago which I may post about in the future. The fact that she speeds and follows too close doesn't help my anxiety of letting other people drive. Just saying. So, while Skye was serenading, "Jars of Hearts," by Christina Perri to me while I was eating  my McGriddle, we had two near collisions. In her defense, it was because two idiots decided on a whim that they wanted to be in our lane whether we knew it or not. Ok, side rant: if you are one of those people who either A) signal as you're merging/turning, B) Signal for 1 second before you merge/turn or C) Signal after you have merged/turn, what the deuce are you thinking? Your turn signal is to alert others of your intentions before you do them! Use it correctly, because if I rear end you, I won't be sorry. It's your fault that you're an idiot.



Skye and I eventually got to Evergreen in one piece and started sorting my belongings into trash, keep and donate. If it had been up to me a year ago, I would have kept everything, but that is the part of me that is a hoarder like my mother. Skye would agree I have gotten much better about getting rid of stuff. We decided to throw away a couple broken/warped shelving units and we were donating two extra televisions (I used to think I needed a TV for every room, but I no longer have cable and they weren't HD so what did I need them for?), an extra microwave, two lamps that were missing shades and my drum set (because I have moved 8 times in a few years and not in a band of any sort). Skye promised me she would come over Monday and make me go through my other belongings to get rid of more stuff. Insert dread here.



Dad eventually showed up so that we could get the moving van and we (Skye and I) eventually got the truck finished packed by 3:30 p.m. (notice the lapse in account for how long it took dad to get there). Dad was showing around the mysterious renter-lady while Skye and I packed up the truck. She used her tetris skills to arrange the boxes and I used my athletic skills to load the boxes. We were the best moving team ever! We were contemplating at this point to become, "Two Guys and  Moving Van"'s competition by being, "Two Girls Who Move You with Style (By the way we can't lift any furniture. So, you'll probably have to call the other guys for that)." We were going to be rich! Then, after our fantasy 2nd life as mover women in a man's moving world, Dad says the most amazing thing ever, "As far as I'm concerned, anything inside the house is fair game." I ended up confiscating a cat tree and a gorgeous shower curtain complete w/ liner and metal shower hooks (fancy!).

We barely got to the leasing office before it closed (in Carver Style) to sign the lease and get my apartment keys. Skye dumped the keys on the desk and gasped, “That's a lot of keys.”

“Oh, I have to go over the keys with you.” The lease lady said while I was getting a hand cramp from signing my name and initials a billion times on never-ending pages. There were two house keys, two mail keys, one pool key, one gym key, and one pool bathroom key. Then my dad came and butted in, "Do you have security guards?"

"No... but we do have police patrol at night." The poor office lady replied.

"How many times? Is it on a set schedule or random?" My dad used to be a marine and I'm the baby in the family... not to mention the favorite. It really wasn't hard to be the favorite. All I had to do was not become an alcoholic, get arrested, or have temper tantrums like I was five-years-old.

"It's on a set schedule. Twelve times throughout the night. Actually, your daughter has a sheriff living in the building next door." The keys were the least of our worry though once we got up to the third floor (yes, the third floor=predict moving disaster) to see my apartment. The carpets were completely spotted... it was like a dalmatian threw up on it. 

Skye convinced me to take pictures for evidence incase of some crazy person decided charge me for damage I didn't do. Shortly after wards, Skye had to leave to go get pretty for her date. Then my friend Amelia called me to tell me that even though she had promised to help me move, that she was guilt-tripped into babysitting for her sister. That meant that my 65-year-old father and I were stuck moving a 16-foot-truck load of stuff up to a third-floor apartment by ourselves. Don't get me wrong, my father is in amazing shape for his age and no one believes me that he is in his sixties. He just ran a 10-k in California and made 2nd place in his age group. He kind of looks like the hulk before he gets so angry that he turns green. 

Well, as I was walking down the stairs for the fifth time, I looked down and gasped!  There seemed to be a trail of some weird dark substance on the floor in the hallway. So naturally I decided to follow it. It led around the corner towards the stairs. What could this substance be? In my mind I came up with a few possibilities.

These possibilities included but were not limited to: grease, oil, chocolate, coffee, and blood. I decided on blood. I came downstairs and outside to find my dad sweating from the heat. "Do you want me to get us some Gatorade from the 7-11 across the street?"

"That would be great sweetie, Thank you." I raced across the street and surveyed their selection of cold beverages. I ended up getting 4 different 36 oz bottles of Gatorade, a liter of Smart Water, and a chocolate Muscle Milk. I'll admit it, I did have a little bit of trouble holding all of them waiting in line. The tall, dark, and not so handsome stranger offered help carrying them even though he had his arms full himself. I assured him that I could handle it. I almost didn't though because the girl gave me a ripped bag. When I got back to my dad, we sat under the tree and drank our Gatorades. I decided now was the time to break the news to him. "Dad, I think someone was murdered in my apartment." 

"You think that dark stuff on the carpet was blood?" He seemed oddly ok with this scenario.

"Yes and I think that the Sheriff did it." My father wisely did not reply to this remark and said that we should get back to work. Of course, being the protective father, and me the baby, he wouldn't let me carry more than one box up the stairs. He thought I was going to die, faint, or get heat exhaustion. It rained on and off and was dark before we were done.

After returning the UHaul, Dad talked the whole way about his new girlfriend in California... I was so exhausted by the time we got home I couldn't sleep. I was also on the verge of tears because Julius still hadn't come home from being missing from the previous night. I've lived in this apartment a week now, and I still think the full size washer, and dryer are completely worth the 160 extra a month.

Tired = Hungover

My boss informed me that today I looked hungover. I reassured him that I was just tired and if you had my weekend you would be too...

Since my last post, my youngest cat, Julius, has been missing. I moved this last Friday (story to come) and he's been missing since the day before that. Thankfully, my sister spotted him, but he won't come to her. The last week I have been feeling so anxious, and on the verge of a panic attack/break down because of said missing cat. People keep saying he'll turn up, "Cat's always find their way home," but that has never been my experience. Also, of course the weekend I move is the weekend my lovely, awful employee decides to no call, no show. You know... because she's a 5 year old in a 20-something-year-old's body. Don't get me wrong, I'm uber glad I don't have to keep writing alternate schedules in case she calls in sick or just stop showing up as she did. She could have acted her age though, and let us know she found a new job. Just saying.

So, on Saturday night, which was supposed to be my first night at my new apartment, I invite myself over to my sister-in-law's for dinner. Before you jump down my neck at how rude that is, re-read the above paragraph and also add that I had no money and no groceries because of the new apartment costs. I knew only she could understand what I was going through since she lost her puppy a couple months prior. When I got over there she was sipping a Bloody Mary and I had my ice tea. Naturally, I asked her, "What goes good in ice tea?"

"Vodka." she responds simply, but before adding it to my drink she asks, "How happy do you want to get tonight?"

"I don't know. How happy are you getting?"

"I'm getting pretty happy tonight. You are too." I agreed with her.

Then her friend, Meggie, brought over some white wine which we had after our vodka drinks. This of course made us want to turn in for the night at 9 p.m. because we're awesome like that. The next morning I woke up at 6 a.m. and could not fall asleep because we went to bed early. I ended up downloading my music and writing a blog entry to be posted at a later date until she woke. I was really grateful for her company and understanding. Being with her that night and letting loose was something I had really needed. I thought I was ok. She made my morning by making banana, gluten-free pancakes with sausage and then I went to work.

I mean work itself wasn't too dramatic. The gym I work at is pretty low-key and laid-back which is nice. There was this one lady that refused to fill out our guest profile/liability waver because she, "wouldn't be sold anything." I did try to tell her that we had to have the information just to get her on the workout floor in case she got hurt. She was so stubborn and her friend was so fed up with her bad behavior that she went to work out and the woman sat in the lobby the whole time. She tried to ask me if she could just go stand next to her friend and I stood my ground. It took about an hour, but she finally gave up. :) I win! When I finally got off work, I was starving and in a horrible mood. Luckily, seester tricked me into accepting a twenty dollar check for her not returning a red box dvd. I went shopping for some groceries: itallian sausage (because I had a Costco-amount of spaghetti noodles and Ragu tomato sauce), chips (because I had salsa), and cheese (to put on the chips to dip in the salsa).  On the way home boy calls and asks how I am and I tell him that I'm going to make myself Italian sausage spaghetti.

"Can you make enough for two?" he asked all slyly.

"Well I planned on making enough for the week because I'm poor and have no food." I then informed him that although I wouldn't be much company, he was welcome to come over and check out my new place. Of course he had little sympathy for the lost Julius because he is one of the ones who think I have too many cats. I showered when I got home because I felt like a dirty person. When he got there he commented on my place being a pig sty or something of the sort. I put on the water for the noodles and notice when I turn the nobby-thingy that the light isn't coming on to indicate that my hand would get burned if I decide to touch it like an idiot.

"How do you feel about nachos," I ask.

"Make whatever you want... or we could go out." he says.

"Lets go out because my stove isn't working and no I don't want to talk about it," I say, wanting to cry. It's embarrassing when your amazing apartment doesn't show off like you tell it to!

As I'm getting dressed in non-pajama like clothes, he tells me that he'll take me to whatever I want. Although he is an ass sometimes, I sure do appreciate him. We end up going to Chilli's and I get a mango margarita and he gets a regular one. They funnily enough poured mine in the glass with salt and his in the one with sugar. So we drank them and switched glasses. Then I ordered food that was so off my diet plan that I'll be doing double work outs for the next week. It was totally worth it though. When we got back to my place, he tries to set up the television... the cord that supplies electricity from the wall is missing. Ok... WHY WOULD THEY MAKE THAT DETACHABLE?! He, being the genius he is, has his laptop and we watched Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part 1. I try not to gripe that it isn't on blu-ray.

When the night is over and he's going home, he suggests that maybe my oven is just un-plugged.

"Who would unplug an oven?" I wonder.

"It's for safety. You should do it when you go on vacation," I hate when he sounds more grown up than me. This gives him ammo when he accuses me of being too young. The next morning I pull my oven out and sure enough, it was unplugged. Now if only my television cord would magically appear too. No internet and no television makes Lynda go something something...

Runaway Cats

I have mentioned owning three cats and most of my family and friends accuse me of being a, "boarder line cat lady." How did I come across 3 cats you ask? Well the first one was because I had just gotten my first apartment in Denver with my boyfriend at the time and we decided we needed a cat. We searched all over news papers and countless Petsmarts when finally coming across a big, white and black, fluffy, six-year-old named Patrick. It took a three-day application process which included being forced to read material on how its inhumane to declaw cats and the importance of keeping an adopted cat indoors. Once we got Patrick home, my very weird boyfriend wanted to rename him Mortimer. In protest, I only called him, "Mister Meow Meow," for the first few months before succumbing to the name.

Well, I had a full time job as a teller and boyfriend decided that Mortimer needed a, "little buddy to keep him company." I was ok with this idea because I wanted to get a kitten since I satisfied my guilt about kittens being the only ones who get adopted by getting Mortimer. So, one day I am having a mother-daughter date in Loveland and right before my mother and I go into Target, I ask her if I can check the stock in Petsmart there. I immediately fell in love with a fiesty, orange and white, runt named Pumpernickle. He was the last of his litter because he was so fiesty. I called boyfriend and told him that I had a surprise for him and although he clawed up my chest at first, he fell asleep in my lap the hour-long drive home. When I first introduced Mortimer to Pumpernickle, Mortimer was immediately furious! I think he thought we were replacing him. Well over the next week Pumpernickle would go and attack Mortimer's tail then run away and hide in the space between the wall and the couch where Mortimer couldn't get him. Then he'd climb up the back of the couch and attack Mortimer again when he wasn't looking. This is how he got renamed Napoleon. Eventually the two either A) fell in love or B) took on a father-son relationship because they were inseperable. They clean eachother and cuddle to this day.

Well, after we moved into apartment number two in Lakewood to get away from the hooligans in Denver, boyfriend decides they need a "little sister." I told him no but of course he didn't listen. One day he comes home with Curtain whom he had renamed Julius (because he was orange get it?). When I asked him why he got another boy, he replied, "Because he was prettier than the girls." Yes. Boyfriend was shallow. After both cats threw a fit for a week or two, they accepted him into their unhealthily close relationship.

Well, since moving back to Dad's from Arizona. Dad always threatens to "throw out" the cat he catches making a mess in his home. So far, I have caught each cat out at least once or twice. Well, if you can afford the vet bills if he gets hurt, or my therapy bills if he disappears, then by all means, let him out. Once, I came home to find the neighbors dog chasing not only Mortimer, but Julius too. Thank God I had gotten home when I did or they both would have been Kibble. The 2nd time I couldn't find Julius, I start calling for him and he is in a bush next to the house. Would he come out easily? Of course not. I had to crawl in said bush and then chase him around the house to convince him to come inside. Tonight was different because Dad confesses that Napoleon got out while he was taking his bike out. I called for him and he started meowing from a neighbors. He was scared to come home because the sprinklers were on. I am starting to suspect that theses "accidents" are no more an accident than me being blonde.