Monday, July 30, 2012

A Fishy Treat

So because my life is a super boring blob filled with work, I have decided to make this week flashback week. This week I will be recounting things that happened to me in the past and hoping that you will think they're as funny as they were. Even if I didn't think they were funny at the time.

(Note: Maybe tomorrow I'll have something awesomely exciting to report, because I get to see two of my favorite people--Jo and Destiny!)

So, if you know me, you may know that I pretty much worshipped my big brother, Chris, when I was little. I can't explain it, but I thought he was the best thing ever. He was 7 years older than me and treated me like I was the best sister God could ever conjure up for him. We also ganged up against Kevin together, which seemed to somehow strengthen our bond.

He looks innocent enough
My love for him was a little ridiculous. Like if he did something that warranted a spanking, I would fess up and say that I did it and please spank me instead of him. Even things that my parents knew for certain could not have been committed by me. My parents would plead with me to please stop taking up for him. (Incidentally, I'm guessing Chris thought it was pretty alright.) And because he was a teenager when I was a small child, I would wait up for him at night to get home from hanging out with his friends so we could chat or he could play guitar for me or really just so I could say goodnight as he passed through my room. Chris was my hero.

He doesn't always wear women's tank tops
but when he does, he makes them Flat Stanley tank tops
Now, for some reason, when we were younger, we were always taking family vacations without Chris. I'm not sure if it's because he has worked every day of his life since the ripe ole age of 11 and couldn't take off work for family vacations or if he stayed back because partying was way more fun without the threat of Mom and Dad catching him or if his chronic foot odor was so bad that we couldn't bear to be in the same hotel room with him. But I distinctly remember many, many years and many, many vacations without Chris.

There was one in particular where my family and my mom's best friend, Pam's family took a joint vacation. Naturally, Chris wasn't invited. For that vacay, we drove to Ohio--I think, I was very young--to go to Sea World and King's Island and the zoo and general other family vacation stuff. It was a blast, but I couldn't help but think of poor Chris back home all alone and yearn to get back to him.

The night we got back home, Mom was doing her usual home-from-vacation routine where she dumped out suitcases and washed every piece of laundry we took. Dad was probably "resting his eyes" in his recliner, and Kevin and I were glued to the TV watching some stupid sitcom, I'm sure. Chris had been out with friends or working or whatever teenagers did in the '90s and returned home to greet us. I was ecstatic to see him. He announced that he had gotten me and Kevin some candy while we were away. Presumingly because he missed me us so much. Kevin took the candy and dismissed it immediately. (It was very unexciting candy. Some lemon-dropish type hard candy wrapped in red cellophane.) But, I, thinking that it was the best possible thing that could have happened that Chris greeted us with candy, popped it into my mouth without a second thought, showering him with thanks and love.

The GOOD kind of fish candy
Fast forward about thirty-two seconds when I bit into the lemon candy. Suddenly, a repulsive thick black fluid began to seep from the candy and into every single pocket of my mouth. A horrid, strong fish taste leaked into my mouth quicker than I could get it out, which I was trying to do into my hand, into the sink, onto the floor, wherever I could put it that didn't involve being in my mouth. As this putrid candy came hurling out of my mouth, my family began to question--loudly and in a frenzy--what could possibly be wrong with the candy, as a single solitary snicker bellowed from Chris's half-smile, half-smirk.

Without even considering it, tears began streaming down my face, and I began to wail, my fish breath covering everything in sight. Mom instructed me to rush to the bathroom and brush my teeth as she began yelling at Chris to find out what he'd done. As it turns out, Chris had discovered trick candy in our familial absence and thought it would be hilarious to trick Kevin and I into eating. His lone excuse was, "I didn't think she'd eat it, I thought Kevin would!" (As if that might make my parents go, "Ooooooh, okay. No biggie.")

Ew. Just the thought of it turns my stomach.

Clearly, he still feels guilty
Despite every attempt at brushing the taste out of my mouth, I continued to cry and breathe and taste fish with every swallow and breath. Chris always had Cinnaburst (do they even make that anymore?) gum with him, and we always begged for a piece and never got one. As a peace offering, Chris rushed to his room to grab some Cinnaburst to help banish the taste. Tearfully, I accepted the offering, but even that wasn't enough to rid my mouth of the horror. I can't remember exactly, but I'm pretty sure I cried myself to sleep that night. Not only out of fear that I might forever smell like and taste fish in my mouth, but also because my sweet, sweet, big brother had sabotaged me.

To this day, I still cannot use blue Crest toothpaste or chew Cinnaburst gum (in fact, that may be why they took it off the market--too fishy).

The Post That Never Was

(Note: This blog was supposed to be posted yesterday, but my ADD kicked in, and I never hit publish. Or bothered to look for any pictures for the post.)

I know how much y'all love my long, rambling Sunday posts, so I thought I'd work up a real doozy for you today. There are so, so many things I should have done in my time off Friday, Saturday, and today. So I have--instead of actually doing them--chronicled them all here for you. And for your reading enjoyment, listed what I actually did instead.

Things I Should Have Done:

--The dishes that were piling up in the sink since Wednesday. If you remember, we cooked for three Wednesday evening, then I worked for a million hours on Thursday, so since then, the dishes have been piling up and collecting water since we continue to run water in the dish-filled sink.

--Put away some (okay, probably all) of the laundry sitting in the FIVE bins full of clean laundry in our bedroom. I really, honestly don't mind to do the laundry. It's just putting it away in our FOUR closets that I hate. Especially since most of the clothes that need to be hung up are mine and my huge spare room closet doesn't have an air vent and is blistering hot. Also because it's so cramped and crowded in there that I can barely fit in to hang stuff up. And CD insists on coming in with me every time I go in there. If I wasn't completely mortified of how it looked, I'd include a picture so you could get the full effect, but then I'd be so ashamed that I'd never blog again.

--Clean our bathroom. I can't even continue to talk about it, it needs to be cleaned that much.

--Organize my office. I just continue to pile stuff up on and around my desk. It's so bad that I no longer sit at my desk to work. I just pull my laptop to the bed. Which also has clothes piling up on it.

--Clean the clothes off the bed. Most days, I pile my gently worn clothes at the top post of my side of the bed. They are starting to take over my pillow, so they definitely need to be moved.

--Work. I could do any number of things to catch up/get ahead of paperwork. I've done none of it this weekend.

--Grocery shop. The door to the fridge is now closing just fine. Which means I feel compelled to buy more food.

--Washed our sheets. It's really only been a few days since they were washed last, but I have gotten in them with sunscreen and/or bug spray on. And that grosses me out.

--Clean out the Escape. Now that the Camry is pristine (thanks 100% to Joel, because I basically stood around whining about mosquitos while he cleaned it), the Escape looks terrible inside.

--Lots of other things that I'm ignoring or avoiding, simply because I don't want to do them.

Things I Actually Did:


--Laid in bed way too long Friday morning. What can I say? It was my day off.

--Caught up on blogs I'd been too busy to read throughout the week. If you haven't yet read Jamie's journey to having her sweet Micah in her life, read it here. Have tissues handy.

--Blogged a bit myself. Also, I found out that my friend Amanda spent two whole hours reading my blog on Friday. I'm ignoring the fact that she's in Wisconsin, and there may not be tons to do other than read some girl's blog. I'm still super stoked about it. (That may be the first and only time I have/will use the word stoked.) So shout out to Amanda!! Also, I found out Joel's dad reads my blog! Shout out to him not only for reading my blog, but also for producing a person who puts up with my crap every single day.

--Had lunch with my friend, Elizabeth. It was so awesome to see her and catch up and hear how great things are going for her. I'm so happy for her and no one deserves it more than she does!

--Spent a little time with sweet, baby Jovie. When I walked in the door, she said, "Hi, Casi!" Pretty amazing. Then she told me that she really likes to eat candy instead of her mom's roast, and that her daddy will be sleeping in the crib in her room and not, in fact, her baby sister who still lives in her mom's belly. And then I tried to steal her, but Stephanie caught me and made me give her back. (Note: I will also try this with the new baby.)

--Took my cousin Stephanie (Jovie's mom) out for 30th birthday ice cream. I'm actually about a week late, but I have this crazy busy job and Stephanie has a job AND two and half kids, so we finally got around to spending time together for her birthday. And what do you do for a preg for her 30th? ICE CREAM. (Notes: I ate way more ice cream than she did, and I'm not preg. And this is my reminder that my 30th is a little over 6 months away. Steph handled her's gracefully. I may not. She said she'd feel much better about her 30th birthday if she weren't preg, and I said, strangely, I feel the exact opposite.)

--Went to TJ Maxx to return a $12 shirt. Accidentally bought five more shirts and a dress. And replaced the other shirt I returned with the right size. Oops.

--Went to our friend, Jason's cookout. That was super fun, and the weather was amazing, and we sang songs for hours. I did not, however, grace everyone with the gift of my singing voice. Mostly because my head was pounding, and I didn't want theirs to be as well.


--Went to lunch (at the same place I went Friday) with Carrie and her parents. Waited over an hour for our pizza. Wanted to eat two pieces but was embarrassed to be the only one who ate two. I later found out someone else at the table ate two pieces then was so pissed that I missed out on my second piece.

--Laid at the pool with Carrie and burned tanned just the left side of my body, because we were too busy talking to worry about where the sun was and where our sunscreen was and when we should turn.

--Came home to see that the stinky dishes had set so long that Joel did them. Sent him a text praising this gesture, because, frankly, they probably still would have been sitting there.

--Snuggled with CD. Did not share my mozzarella cheese sticks with him, but did share my ice cream with him.

--Watched the Bachelor Pad. Why? Because the Bachelorette is over.

--Slept for 14 straight hours. I can't explain it other than my body is probably exhausted from having a pounding headache for like six straight days that I can't get rid of despite the hundreds of Ibuprofens I've been taking.


--Woke up with a terribly sore throat. Asked Joel 100 times if I have a fever, as if somehow my high temperature will justify my crappy feeling. Because he's wonderful and puts up with it, he answered, "hmmm, maybe a little" every.single.time.

--Weighed myself every time I peed hoping that it would somehow make me lighter. It did not.

--Spent too much time scrolling through Jenny Lawson's pins on Pinterest.

--Drank too much homemade vanilla iced coffee hoping a little caffeine would make me feel lots better. Instead, it made me shaky and feel like I was going to pass out.

--Started the rest of the dirty laundry. Again, it's not the doing laundry I hate. It's the putting away.

--Stared at the clean laundry. Still didn't put it away.

I am starting to feel a little bit better, so who knows where the day will take me. Probably not anywhere productive, just like the direction this blog took.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Because I'm White and Nerdy

My nerdiness hit an all-time high this week, folks. (Did you know nerdiness isn't a word? I was going to use nerddom but I'm certain that's not a word. AND I type my blogs on Joel's Mac, and I'm too dumb to know how to get some suggestions from it when this bossy computer tells me I've spelled something wrong or made up a word. Oh well. Deal with it.)

What I see an average of four hours a day
As you may know, I spend hours and hours and hours and then even more hours in my car driving for my job. Over the past couple of years, I have entertained myself by attempting to listen to old CDs (that are wayyyy too scratched up, because I throw away the cases in my purging efforts), becoming NPR's biggest fan, relishing in my 6 month free subscription to Sirius radio (until it ran out), returning and making phone calls, and texting (SORRY! I'm making a real effort to stop, I promise.). But with the start of this year's travel season, I've found myself excruciatingly bored in the car. The radio sucks. NPR has been trying to put me to sleep. And you people seem to have jobs that say you can't chat on the phone for hours at a time.

So, despite my best efforts to avoid it, I have entered the world of audio books. And I must tell you, I love it. In true Casi-reading-style, I got three books and put one funny one in the Escape (also one that Joel may enjoy as he drives the Escape most often now) and one more serious one in the Camry. Also, in true Casi style, I picked up the wrong thing at the library and found myself sitting in my car with some kind of MP3 player contraption not knowing what the hell to do with it. Then Kevin yelled at me for being audio book dumb and made me go back to the library to exchange that new-fangled device for plain old CDs. (Had he not, they would have sat in my car for months while I avoided telling people I was too stupid to figure them out.)

The book I'm "reading"
If someone knows if I've read it before,
please remind me
I got to experience the first audio book yesterday whilst in the car for four hours, and I found myself mesmerized by the story. I also found myself thinking I've read this book before, but can't remember how it ends so I'm going to keep on listening until I determine "yup, I read this book in its entirety and am just too old to remember the ending." And now, on my day off, I actually find myself trying to think of reasons to get back into the car and go somewhere, because I'm dying to know what happens next. I have officially fallen into the old person audio book trap.

Other things going on in my life since I have been neglecting my blog this week:

--Jaxon stayed with us Wednesday night. He cracked me up all night long. At one point, he told me he was only ticklish when his abs were off. When he turns his abs on, he can no longer be tickled. Brilliant. He also said that Joel and I go to bed way too early and that we should really try to figure out why that is. (Note: we're old people.)

My man
--We're taking Emily's cat when she moves to Louisville. Em found a stray cat a few months ago eating garbage out of the Sonic trash can. Because I feel a connection to this cat because I may or may not have found myself doing the same thing at one point in my life, I simply can't let it stay in Kevin's backyard and potentially get tortured by him (he tortured my cats for years when we were younger). Also, one of my greatest enemies inhabit the farm: mice. Big, nasty, long-tailed assholes. So, guess what? My new friend, Sonic--I think that's what Jack named her--is coming to live at the farm and take on all those nasty little critters for meals! We're still interested to see how CD is going to feel about this and apparently she's pretty timid, so we'll have to see how Sonic feels about us too. But we're one step closer to having a mouse-free farm. YAY!

--Plans are in the works for a Colorado trip in August! Apparently it's not much cooler there, but it's got to be a little better than the scorching heat here. And it's a vacation. And we're driving, so I'll have 23 amazing hours of audio books. Joel can't wait to hear my awesome chick-lit in stereo for two whole days!

If I were a mouse, I'd want to jump right into that mouth

I had a little break one day
and used it all for snuggle time
--Clearly, I'm exhausted. I've worked a ridiculous amount this week and had to deal with some pretty interesting people. Most days, I've stumbled home around 9 or 9:30pm, shoved some kind of leftover food in my mouth, and passed out within the hour. Thus making me unable to keep up with my blog and making my life completely un-funny. There's nothing funny about a 6am alarm clock or three back-to-school fests in one day. I had ventured the idea of creating a People-of-Readifests Blog for you, complete with pictures, but I thought a--that's a little heinous for me even, and b--when I tried to take the first picture of a SHIM (Is it a she? A him? I couldn't decide), I almost got two black eyes and two broken legs.

So, just for you, my loyal readers, I will try to get into some kind of ridiculous hijinks this weekend, so I have something a little bit interesting to talk about. My preg friend is coming in from out of town, we're getting a cat, and we have some friends who are wanting to have a little get-together this weekend. So surely, surely something good will happen. If not, I'll tell you all about what's going on in my audiobook. Because I'm huge nerd.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Grown-up Friends

So, I have mentioned this before, but lately Jo, Destiny, and I have talked a lot about grown-up friends. We admit that our new friendships with each other seem different and have decided that we have all become mature enough to have and be grown-up friends. And it's not that the friends I have had all along are not grown-up friends--and the same can be said for Destiny's and Jo's friends--but it's more of a discovery, and then a conscious effort to be the most grown-up friends we know how to be.

Let me give you some examples.
One of my bestest peeps. Goose ain't so bad neither.

About a month or so ago, I needed some cheering up, and Jo invited me to the lake for the weekend to relax and recharge. I agreed, but because of my indecisive nature, as the weekend approached, I began to wonder if I had the energy to make a long drive all by my lonesome and be the cool, hilarious Casi I know I can be, all while feeling a little down. Realizing this, I immediately panicked. I suddenly started getting nervous about what Jo would think of me bailing on her when she had been generous enough to invite me, I started beating myself up for not being a good enough friend to suck it up and go, and I started imagining what life would be like when my very good friend, Jo, no longer wanted to be my friend because I was a big, fat flake. But I bit the bullet and sent the text saying I was having second thoughts, and should maybe stay home and try to recharge in the comforts of my own bed. Within seconds, I had the nicest, most understanding response from Jo, telling me that her offer was meant only out of being a good friend, and if staying home were more relaxing to me, she not only understood, but would love to have me out to the lake when I felt up to making the drive. What. A. Great. Friend.

This girl is my Outreach Counselor fo' life
When I finally made it to the lake this past weekend, we made some drunken plans for the girls to come crash the Clark/Osborne house in Owensboro and rock out at the Country Club with me. Both Jo and Destiny's husbands wondered out loud to them if I would be upset if they didn't come to the 'boro and what should they tell me? Luckily, both girls know me well enough to know that I would never be upset that now was not an ideal time to make the trip and that they have an open invitation to come stay with us and see the greatness that is my city anytime. Jo and Destiny reassured their husbands that not only would I not be mad, but I would scoff at the idea that it was a big deal at all.

And there are many more stories I can tell you about how understanding and comforting grown-up friends are. But, instead, I decided to make a list of the AREs and ARE NOTs of grown-up friends. Here goes:

1--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who understand you and your craziness. No matter what.

2--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who hesitate to point out that you're being a little too crazy and need to explore some less-crazy options.

3--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who want you to do what's best for you. Even if they don't understand it at the time.

I would do most anything for this sassy gal, and
know she'd do the same for me
4--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who would get angry at you for declining an offer or invitiation. Even without good reason.

5--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who accept you for who you are.

6--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of people you have to impress with your home, car, SO, financial status, life decisions, or worldly possessions. They are the kind of friends who could care less.

7--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who listen to your problems and support you by saying 'I'm here.' Only giving advice when asked.

8--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who'll get upset when you don't take said advice or ever, ever say "I told you so."
Travel buddy, walking pal, coffee break sister, friend til the end

9--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who'll listen to you b*tch, complain, and cry about your SO or the people in your life who stress you out.

10--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who hold that against you when you're suddenly extremely happy with your SO or vacationing with the people you just complained about.

11--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who help you keep perspective and see all sides of a situation.

12--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who will expect you do exactly what they would do in that situation.

13--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who give equal amounts of effort to the friendship.

14--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who get upset when your life circumstance means you can't give your fair share to the friendship right now.
This bff has laughed with me, cried with me, and been there for
everything life has thrown my way

15--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who will help you plan out your life.

16--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who will make you feel guilty when you veer off track.

17--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who will help you save money, eat healthfully, or work harder when that is your goal.

18--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who will say no when you decide to then go on a shopping spree, eat that pizza and dessert, or call in to work because there's a Sex and the City marathon on.

19--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who will include you on their plans to do fun and exciting things.

20--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who get jealous or angry if you do fun and exciting things without them when their schedule or finances don't allow.

21--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who don't expect you to be the perfect friend all the time.
This friend will marry me and help me bury our husbands
in the back yard someday.

22--Grown-up friends ARE NOT perfect friends all the time.

23--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who will defend you when people ask those terrible questions like, "when are you getting married?" "when will you and your husband have children?" or "when will you start working on baby #2?"

24--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who keep track of your life timeline by asking those terrible questions of you.

25--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who celebrate your successes with you.

26--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who compete with you.

27--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who make you feel like someone is in your corner at all times.
We have a pact to try and keep each other sane. So far, we're doing...
well, alright. 

28--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends who ask too much of you.

29--Grown-up friends ARE the kind of friends who encourage you, do things just because they care, and who you know will be the perfect person to build you up or talk you off the ledge.

30--Grown-up friends ARE NOT the kind of friends that fade easily, walk away, or become a memory of your past.

I am so very, very lucky to have a whole collection of grown-up friends, and while I'm not perfect (see #22), I do strive to be a grown-up friend to each and every one of my friends. And if this is what it means to be a grown-up, I think maybe I'm starting to come around to the idea.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Dear God, What is This Post Even About?

Me and my purse
So last night, our night at the Country Club actually turned out really well. I didn't embarrass myself too much. I did drop my purse and spill its contents maybe six times, but that wasn't really my fault. I like to say that it's Joel's, because he stuffed his cell phone, wallet, and sunglasses in there at the last minute. I typically need a duffel bag to carry my stuff alone, so it was simply too much sh*t stuffed in there, thus, making it impossible for me to carry it and my drink(s) all at once. For good measure, I dropped it one last time in the parking lot before we left sending our stuff flying all over the parking lot and even under the car. At which point, I made sure to let Joel know this was all his fault. He actually apologized too, which was awesome, because my clumsiness is totally not his fault, but a girl will take an apology when she can get one, so I was smug all the way home.

Totally happening in December, b*tches
That was a complete rambling mess, so let's start over. First I used all my free time yesterday afternoon looking up Carnival Cruises and planning an awesome trip for Destiny's  30th birthday in December. Jamie is going on one in October and was telling me all about how awesome it is, so I decided that was the best possible way to spend my time. Not cleaning my house or unpacking my things or sleeping, but yet planning a vacation for December. Folks, that will make one vacation every month for six straight months. That is, if we take one in August which we decided today will definitely happen and one in November, which I'll be sure to annoy Joel into taking me somewhere so that I can say we vacationed every month for six straight months before I turned 30 and was too old to travel with my bad hips and incontinence.

Dear Kevin and Pablo, bullying is no joke
(Back to yesterday afternoon) Then I went to have a drink and an appetizer with Kevin, Pablo, and Emily. That was super fun, because Kevin and Pablo think all they can do around me is make fun of me, and I try to fend off their comments with quippy comebacks but I feel too much pressure and usually end up saying things like, "YOU are!" and feeling completely ridiculous. Pablo couldn't order anything at the restaurant, because they didn't serve Mexican food and also because I interrupted him every time he tried to order. Because I kept having to change my order. What can I say? I'm the most indecisive person ever.

The Country Club, once again, ended up being pretty fun. At first, I was at a table full of stay-at-home Moms, which made me feel 100% completely domestically inadequate, so I just sat there nodding my head and drinking my Mich Ultra and White Zin simultaneously. Then I found my friend, Jill, who is awesomely hilarious, and then my keeps-sh*t-real friend Amy, and then I met Chris's boss's wife, Annie, who is awesome and had a baby at 38, which makes me feel like my life might not be a complete waste. They entertained me for the rest of the night, and I either entertained them a little bit or completely embarrassed myself. I'm not sure which.

Also, I decided that apparently only married people can come to the Country Club. Last weekend, at the wedding reception, I was asked four times--by people I know--if Joel and I were married. Then, to both of us, someone asked when our wedding was, because of course, we're engaged. My face turned red, Joel spit his beer out like a cartoon, and we shamed our poor friend into just walking away. Then, last night, people kept asking me which one my husband was and how long we'd been married. I finally just started saying, despite my pale skin, I'm of Indian descent, and that, some day, my parents will arrange my wedding, so please don't bring it up to my boyfriend, because it's a sore subject for both of us.
Me and my future husband. Thanks, Mom and Dad

This morning, we slept until we no longer could--somewhere around 10am, and I was strangely motivated to get tons of stuff done. So Joel and I cleaned the house and the cars out and arranged all of my work materials for my busy season--which starts tomorrow and lasts for the next 89 weeks. While we were outside, one overzealous mosquito sent out a call to all of his asshole mosquito buddies, and they all came to the Clark/Osborne driveway for an all you can eat Casi buffet. When I got inside, I was so covered by the biggest mosquito bites I've ever seen that I took it as my cue to just get back in bed where it's safe. Later, I got motivated to work and worked for a full two and a half hours until I finally turned to Joel--who was mesmerized by some boring movie--and said, "What's that, honey? You think I'm working way too hard and should stop and get back in bed with you, because you miss me terribly? Okay, if you insist." And crawled back in bed with Joel, who'd heard none of what I said.

Our drive way
Then I got kinda bored and began to annoy Joel, which is not uncommon on days that we spend all day together in the house. Because I know he loves it, I started asking him really obvious questions like, "babe, are you going to the bathroom?" when he'd get up to go to the bathroom. Then I said, "baby, are you really into this movie?" when I realized he hadn't blinked for a full 72 seconds. (I knew this because I'd been staring at his face a mere two inches away, willing him to pay attention to me.) And when he got up to get a shower, I waited until he was mid-soaping and pulled the shower curtain back to say, "Honey, are you getting a shower?" He really, really loves when I do that. And I crack myself up by doing it. So I keep on.

A big thing happened about twenty minutes ago when Joel and I decided not to have our typical Sunday night dinner (also, Wednesdays, sometimes Tuesdays, and often Fridays) of a thin crust veggie pizza from Pizza Hut. Instead he's going to make me eggplant parmesan, because we have been eating like we're on death row lately and are afraid we'll have heart attacks at the exact same time while we're each eating a McChicken and Quarter Pounder a piece (ahem, last night), and then no one will take care of our dog or realize we're dead for several days.

Wow, this blog really got out of hand. Clearly I'm bored and needed to just tell you every ridiculous moment of my day. But don't worry, this week I have three 12+ hour days, and I work every Saturday for the rest of my life, so you won't have to read my ramblings, and maybe I'll actually write about something meaningful and serious. But probably not.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

The Longest Blog Ever (Or My Friend's Goose Wears a Flight Suit)

So, my weekend is far from over, but it's been pretty badass thus far, and I'm afraid if I wait to tell you about it, I'll forget even more of the badass things that happened than I already have.

This was the only foreign affair I was interested in.
It started out a bit rocky. I already didn't feel very good Thursday night, so when Joel got home with our Taco Bell dinner (I know, it doesn't get much healthier than that), we ate, caught up on each other's day, and went to bed. We are all about sleep timers in our house, so we put on our DVR'd Daily Show with a thirty minute sleep timer. We fell asleep before John's guest was even introduced. However, when the DVR stopped, C-Span was on and Barack Obama was giving some speech. Apparently C-Span's volume is much louder than normal TV, and so I was awakened by our president shouting something about foreign affairs at me. Thank you, Mr. President, I'll be up all night now.

Since Barack woke me up, and I couldn't go back to sleep, I decided to read a little...until the storm blew through. The lightning was so bright and the thunder so loud that CD was absolutely losing his sh*t. Now, this dog, in normal circumstances, is completely deaf. But when there's a storm happening, he hears every little sound. And is none too happy. He proceeded to pace, whine, demand to be put in bed with us, demand to get down, claw my face, arms, chest, etc, and generally go nuts for the next hour and a half. At one point, he wanted me to spoon him and rub his belly nonstop until he fell asleep. When I stopped, he got mad at me and cheated on my snuggles with Joel.
This is a terrible picture of me, but please note CD pleading with me to make the scary sounds stop.

And this is my punishment for not doing as I was told.

Finally, the storm died down, and CD fell asleep and I did shortly after. Then I woke up at 6am the next morning with a fire inside me kicking and screaming to get out. (Yes, I realize this is too much info. Get over it or click that X in the top corner of your screen.) There was a burning in the pit of my stomach along with severe nausea and other more southerly pains. I kept trying to ignore it and hope it would go away, but I was afraid I'd die, and Joel would wake up to my dead body next to him and CD nawing on my face. Finally, I woke him to ask him to please help me because clearly, my stomach had gone bad and was trying to expel itself from my body. He made me some baking soda and water (dis-effing-gusting), and within minutes, I'd killed the alien trying to pop out of my belly button. Only to realize, Joel had grown a small tummy demon inside him during the night and was fearing he might die too. Awesome. We are claiming that we were definitely poisoned by Taco Bell. When they say "run for the border," they don't specify they mean your intestines will after you eat it. But because we were so excited about our plans, we drank nasty baking soda water and powered through.
Ready to go. Tummy demons battled.
Then, Joel, CD, and I were ready to hit the road. We were headed to south central Kentucky for me to do a little bit of work, then head to our friends' lake. (UPDATED: Joel also spent the entire time we were in the car cleaning peanut butter and chocolate off of everything while I drove. I apologized 6 million times for junking up his car, and he was so sweet about how it didn't really bother him while he was compulsively cleaning.) We had been invited by Jo, her doggie, Rico, and her husband, Goose. Her husband's name is actually Aaron, but I'm going to refer to him as Goose since he flies a helicopter (at least in my head) and saves lives all over the world (again, at least in my head) wearing this amazing flight suit that makes him look just like Tom Cruise in Top Gun. I know TC's character was named Maverick, but Goose is a better nickname and his character was cooler because, well, he wasn't crazyass Tom Cruise. They also invited Dee and Patrick, and their doggie Lee! 
And Aaron/Goose totally stood in this awkward pose all weekend

Once we got to the lake, the puppy party and hilarity ensued. See, Jo, Dee, and I are hilarious on our own, but when we get together, we feed off each other's funny and are completely unstoppable. I'd love to relay all the hilarious events, but frankly I didn't even remember we had a cut-throat Catchphrase tournament until Dee brought it up this morning. I do know this: we started drinking way too early and stopped way too late. We went on the boat and watched it rain for like the first and only time all summer. While it was raining, we hung out UNDERNEATH the boat. Yeah, you read it right, we were underneath it, and it was amazing. I don't know why but the water under there was a cool neon yellow color. I like to think it's because we were all peeing like crazy and must've stained the water.  
Yup, we did that.

Dee was awesomely brave and jumped right into the water with us. I broke my knee cap on the propeller of the boat, and Joel proceeded to tell everyone how much he worries about my well-being, because I'm constantly acting a fool. I almost drown while trying to tell a story, laughing really hard, and sliding off the life jacket I had made into a water seat. Jo and Goose wore their's like diapers, and that was quite incredible. Then Joel played guitar, and we all mumbled words we thought we knew, until we decided if we didn't eat, we'd have to have our stomachs pumped soon. Then we went back to the lake house, ate, hung out, laughed, played Catchphrase, made Joel play some more, and took a whole bunch of funny pictures that are all on Dee's camera. 

Unfortunately Joel and I had to hit the road pretty early this morning, because he's playing a gig at the Country Club tonight. But we agreed we were going to do this again very soon (maybe every weekend. Sorry, Jo, now you'll never get rid of us!). And we realized that since our SOs all get along swimmingly, we have to be super best good friends our whole lives and all grow old together...because we're six.
Me having breakfast on a typical day.
Other highlights: I burped in the car on the way home, and Joel rolled down the window to air me out. It pissed me off, because I told him I don't understand how he doesn't have the same love filter on his nose that I have on mine. Because I never have to air him out. (Note: he also doesn't eat a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, hashbrown, 10 chicken nuggets, a package of bbq sauce, a package of ranch dressing, and a large Diet Dr. Pepper for breakfast and then burp 58 times while trapped in a car with me, but we're not talking specifics here.) I said all of this to Joel and realized he doesn't think I'm half as funny as I think I am.
I am going to the Country Club tonight to see Joel's band play, and in our drunkenness, the girls and I decided they were going to come to Owensboro with their puppies and SOs and go to the party with me and crash at our house. In our soberness, I decided I shouldn't make Joel drive 3 hours home alone, Jo and Goose decided they shouldn't bail on their friends they'd already made plans with, and Dee and Patrick remembered they have one year old with his grandma that might need them. So it's just going to be me going as super-girlfriend/groupie. And apparently the CC has strictly prohibited the band members from bringing any more than one guest. (Side note: I'm sure this has nothing to do with the scenes me and Joel's other twelve guests made on New Year's Eve at the Country Club. That's a whole other hilarious story.) (Other side note: When it comes to me and my friends, there is no better incentive to go than being told it's strictly prohibited. But whatev.) So I'll have to let you know how much I bring the level of class down tonight at the Country Club. I'm starting by wearing the exact same thing I wore last week to the wedding reception we attended at the Country Club. And Joel is wearing his tie. Which still has beer on it from last week. What?
My Mexican friend, Pablo

Until then, I'll be procrastinating all the things I have to do, and then I'm meeting Kev, Em, and Pablo for drinks and apps (not like iphone apps, but like what cool waitresses call appetizers) at the Miller House. While I'm there, I'm going to tell Pablo how proud I am that he is finally embracing his heritage and opening a restaurant. 
His Mexican restaurant

Thursday, July 19, 2012

You Live, You Learn

Yup, that's him
So I've had about 100 good ideas of things to write today's blog about in the last 48 hours, but I'm completely exhausted and the barometric pressure is getting me down. You see, I'm very affected (affect or effect? I'm too tired to care) by the barometric pressure, and it's been thinking about raining for the last two days. This means that the pressure is building so badly in my head that it feels like at any minute, my right eye is going to explode covering everything around me in eye gunk. Mmmm, but really, owwwww. So I'll just write about a few things I learned today.

1--I really do live with Father Time. I say this all the time in passing about Joel, but the man gets up at the crack of dawn. This morning, I think we made it to 6:48 until I gave in and finally got up with him. That's every morning this week before 7am. It makes for really long days.


2--My job gets awesomer every day. I have been visiting my counselors to plan the year at each of my schools, and the counselors I work with rock.

3--Tomorrow and Saturday are going to be amazing. After work tomorrow, Joel and I are headed to my friend Jo, and her husband's lake--yes, they own it, at least in my head. Destiny and Patrick are coming, and it is going to be on like Donkey Kong. We're even taking our sweet puppy. I can't freaking wait.

Actual photo of my fridge
3--I am a food hoarder. I ran to the grocery for a few staples for the lake and for the house. $250 later, I can't close the refrigerator. Oops.

4--I've still got it. I went to the liquor store to get an oh-so-classy box of wine for the lake, and the two maybe 20 year old boys working there were falling all over themselves to help me carry my wine box (I think I got it). And they were going on and on about how there was no way I was almost 30 when they saw my ID. I told them it was a fake. They even walked me to my car. Scary? No. Badass? Yes.

5--It really does pay to do the laundry. To be specific, it pays $240. In cash. The dryer offered it up as I was pulling Joel's clothes out. Thank you, Mr. Dryer. Maybe I'll go buy more wine.

Thanks for putting up with my half-ass post, and if my eye does explode, I'll be sure to take pictures and write a post on the left half of the screen for you.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

What's a Casi, Anyway?

Recently, many people have been telling me how they read my blog (insert a million tiny clapping hands and a jump/squeal from me), but they've also been telling me that they can literally hear my voice saying these words. (Interestingly, so can I sit in front of the computer...and type them...and say each one he watches the news...and shushes me.) Seriously, too many people to count (if you can't count to like, three) have told me they hear my voice in these words. And I think, when they say this, "well, this is me. All me. Right here on the interweb. I am who I am." Which brings up the question: Who is Casi Clark, anyway?

So I made a list of things that are pretty uniquely Casi and, without further ado, here they are:

I look innocent enough. But what I'm drinking there? It's Awesome Juice.
1--First of all, my name is Casi. Pronounced CAH-see. Not Casey, not Cathy, not Cass-I. Plain and simple. And it's spelled with a mere four letters. Try and get that part right. (It took Joel four months to get it right, but he might get pissed for me telling that story, so I will later when he's not reading over my shoulder.)

2--I'm late. Always. Casi time runs anywhere from 5 - 15 minutes later than real time. When I'm scheduling work stuff, I always write it in my calendar fifteen minutes earlier than it is. I set my clocks 15 minutes ahead. My family tells me things start 15 minutes before their actual start time. None of this helps. I'll still stroll in late with some lie about what happened.

3--I have a man voice. I've come to terms with it in my old age, but it used to really bother me. It's probably deeper than your SO's voice (if your SO is a dude) and maybe even your dad's (I know he's a dude). When my friends get really sick, they say they sound like me. When I get really sick, I am mistaken for a man in drive-thru speakers and over the phone. When I was in the first grade, Ms. Rinaldi, my teacher, yelled across the room at me that I have a deep voice that carried, and, thus, I had to be quieter than the other kids. Had she said that to 29 year old Casi, I would have told her she just hears me better because what I am saying is funnier than what anyone else is saying anyway.
Me? Oh, I'm hilarious

4--I fancy myself to be quite the comedian. When I am in a group of people--especially my peeps--it is my number one goal, above all else--to make people laugh. I will exaggerate the truth, say inappropriate things, and flat out lie to make people laugh. And if I do, my mission is accomplished.

5--I cuss a lot when I'm doing it. I cuss mostly out of anger or comedic effect, but saying butt, shoot, crap, meanie, and freaking is not nearly as funny as their adult counterparts. I love throwing in a well-placed cuss word and watching the crowd fall apart in laughter. (Unless this is only in my mind, and I'm the modern day, chick equivalent of Andrew Dice Clay, and people just laugh awkwardly hoping I'll stop talking. But in my mind--which is what counts anyway--I am f*cking hilarious.)

Me ignoring your voicemail
6--I will not listen to your voicemails. Ever. If you call, I'll call you back, but don't say, "did you get my message?" The answer is always no. There are people in my family, who, when I call back will say, "well, listen to my voicemail, that's why I left it." At which point, I say okay, hang up, and glance down at the hundreds of voicemails I'll never listen to. And still don't. So don't leave them.

7--I'm kind of a bad driver. When I'm driving, I'm too busy doing important things like talking to whoever's with me, painting my nails, eating, changing clothes, putting on an imaginary concert, watching dumb people on the street, and finalizing my plans to conquer the world. I can't be bothered with frivolous things like watching, reacting, breaking, or not speeding.

8--I have the messiest car in the world. I live in my car now more than ever so it has only gotten worse. I told Destiny today that I am not allowing myself to have peanut butter or chocolate in my car anymore, because every visible (and invisible because I have some high-tech sh*t in my car) surface is covered in chocolate and melted peanut butter. There is never any telling what you will find in my junk yard of a car either. My boss got into my car one day and found a beer can and a pair of little boys' underwear in my floorboard. I'm sorry, you gotta enter at your own risk, man.

Maybe the best picture of me ever taken.
And by me, I mean my cans.
9--I shorten everyone's name and/or give them a nickname. Back when my peeps and I were all going to Ninki and eating hibachi all the time, one of the little (pretend) Japanese servers said, "I know you, you make every name little," or something to that effect. So people know me by the way I give nicknames. Important people. Clearly. Typically I will shorten your name first. Like calling Destiny Dee. Then I will make it long again. Now I call her Dee Dirty Dancer. It's how I roll.

A happily fed Cas

10--I can be the meanest, grumpiest, angriest person in the world if you do not feed me properly. My blood sugar drops and all hell breaks loose. When we were in Costa Rica, I threatened to break up with Joel if he didn't feed me soon. Then when he offered me a slice of bread, I turned and stormed away. I ignored him and berated him until he took me to a resort that served a seven course meal. I don't understand it either. Someone recently called it feeling hangry. And, boy, do I get hangry. We have about a three hour window between meals, and if that meal is not right in front of me when I'm ready, I turn over tables and knock down little kids. I can't help it. It's just who I am.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

You Mess with My Brotha, You Mess with Me

So, recently I wrote all about growing up with two older brothers and hanging out with them and getting squirted in my crazy crack eye with chlorinated water. Well apparently it's National Brother's Week. I had never heard of this, but I'd also never heard of Boss's Day. So I guess I'll write about them again. But my excuse is this weird Facebook Holiday. I don't want y'all to start thinking I have some crazy obsession with my brothers and that I keep a shrine for them in my closet with old baby teeth and stuffed animals. (Confession: I am a little obsessed with my brothers, but Mom made me give their baby teeth back years ago.)

The other night, Chris sent me this ecard:

And it's exactly right and got me to thinking about how I have this huge double standard over who can talk sh*t about my brothers. I know that they are the older siblings, and they get all the fun of picking on me, but I am completely and utterly protective over them.

These are my peeps. Don't #*@$ with them.
So, I'm naturally pretty protective of the people I love. If I hear someone has said something mean to one of my close friends, in an effort to make that friend feel better, I will chronicle everything that is and ever has been wrong with that person (bad fashion and/or poor life choices will usually top the list). I once almost beat up some hick at Windy Hollow Raceway for getting snippy with my mom. If I hear about someone taking advantage of Joel in some way, I get ten times more pissed off about it than he would ever get. I love my peeps, and if you cross them, you cross me. Period.

But with my brothers, this gets taken to a whole new level. No one better ever talk sh*t about my brothers. Ever. The few times in my life when I have feared that I may actually punch someone have been when someone has crossed one of the boys. I know that they can take care of themselves, but I much rather "take care" of someone who messes with them.

How I feel when you cross my bros.
Here's the one exception: me. I get to say whatever I want whenever I want about my brothers. It is my job to tell them when they're being assfaces, and no one else's. AND, many an unsuspecting friend has run into what happens when you even agree with my sh*t-talking.

(Sitting at dinner with random friend.)

Me: So (brother) is being a real assface lately.

Friend: Right...

Me: (looks up slowly from huge plate of cheese fries) Did you just agree that my brother is an assface?? I. Will. CUT. You.

(On the phone with random friend.)

Me: I just don't understand how (brother) can do a douchebag thing like that.

Friend: Yeah, well, I remember that one time he did that other douchebag-y thing.

Me: Yeah. Well, no one asked you.

(hangs up phone in a rage)

You see, it's a complete double standard, but it's not something I'm ever going to change or lighten up on. I get to say what I think about my brothers, and no one is allowed to say a single negative word or even agree with me. If you find yourself getting caught in one of these situations, it's best to just avert your eyes and wait for me to finish, then quickly change the subject. I cannot be held accountable for my actions when protecting my bros.

They are mean to me. I will punch you if you're mean to them.
It's not like I sit around all the time talking trash about my bubbies anyway, but on the rare chance that I need to, I'm going to. And the thing is: I've earned the right to talk a little sh*t about them. I have been there when one was lying in a hospital bed letting the worst farts I've ever smelled in my life and told him it wasn't that bad. I have been there when one of them was in his twenties and on the verge of crying when he had to get blood drawn because he'd never had it done before. I used to loan my hard-earned babysitting cash to one of them to be used for what I can only assume were bake sale brownies. (One can never know for sure.) I have driven six hours to buy groceries for one of them. I have stood next to one of them when he committed his life to his soulmate. I have rushed one of them to the ER when I found him wandering pale-faced and zombie-like through the Healthpark parking lot. I have held one of their hands while he was looking at his brand new baby boy in an incubator. And I have held a knowing hand on one of their backs when he has felt his whole world fall apart. And I've been happy to do it.

So, these boys are my boys, and they always will be. If I have to throw a punch, defend their actions, or tell you how wrong you are when you agree that they're assfaces, I will. Forever. So don't cross them, mother effers, or you will have ME to deal with. Happy National Freaking Brothers' Week.

Sunday, July 15, 2012


What about this guy??

I've been at my desk for less than an hour. He's commandeered my spot. And his lying in his fave position.

Take a closer look. Tongue hanging out. Sheer bliss.

Much Too Old to Rock'n'Roll

Joel and I had quite the eventful weekend.

Friday night, we were invited to dinner with our very good friends from Lexington, Carrie and Byron, and Carrie's parents. It started out innocent enough. Dinner, a few drinks, and an invitation to visit with other friends at Gambrinuuuuuuuuuus (okay, this is a very upscale bar in Owensboro, which is actually called Gambrinus (gam-BREE-naus), but I once knew someone who pronounced it gam-bree-NEEEEWWWWWWZZZZZ. Most people who've lived in Lexington call it gam-bree-nOOOs. It is, however, Gambrinus). Joel and I decided to go to G's and have ONE drink.

Us with Carrie and Byron at Christmas
Let me rewind. Joel and I agreed to have dinner with our friends, and he arrived home about ten minutes before I did. I walk in. Shopping bags in hand. Admit I have a problem. He picks out his favorite items that I've purchased him (a pair of dressy jeans and a white Paper, Denim, and Cloth shirt). I change into my brand new NY&Co black cigarette pants and black and camel sheer striped top.  Before we walk out the door, Joel jokingly puts a pair of flip flops onto his stocking feet. I laugh. We leave. In the car, I realize it wasn't a joke. He has worn his flip flops and socks to Nikos, a nice restaurant, with our friends. Awesome. I love him, and I accept him for who he is, so I giggle and go on. (Spoiler alert: he wears them for the REST OF THE NIGHT.)
Mismatched, dirty socks, no less

So, back to the subject at hand. A mere 20 minutes into dinner, Joel is pointing out his dinner preference on my menu and spills his (very dark) beer all down his brand new white t-shirt. Good thing it was only $7. We proceed to have dinner, and at one point, giggle over the japanese look Joel is rocking. (To make certain that Joel is not the only silly one in our household, I get all the way to dinner and realize I have left the tags on my new pants and, once in the bathroom, realize everyone in the restaurant is getting the privilege to see not only what size I wear, but also that I paid a mere $12 for the $50 pants. I consider it showing off my bargaining skills.)

So, after dinner, we agree to go to G's and have A drink with our friends Jason, Megan, and a new friend, Matt. One drink turns into two turns into "we should go to the Yellow Rose."

Leaving with a newfound energy, I run into a preg friend of mine and sexually assault her preg belly. (Won't be able to look her in the eye for a while.) Then we head on to Hick Heaven. Now, let me explain the Yellow Rose. This is a bar in Owensboro that is the exact opposite of the very upscale, beautifully decorated, very classy Gambrinus. This bar is downright country. Dark, smokey, serving nothing but hard liquor and cheap beer, this bar is very "friends in low places" style.

When we get there, we discover a sa-weet moped outside and proceed to take turns taking pictures on it. The owner (a tubby fellow in wire-rim glasses, a tie, Duckheads, and a few two many PBRs) comes out to protect his prized possession and instantly falls in love with me. He pays no mind to the fact that I am clearly spoken for. (At one point, Joel and I went to our respective restrooms. I came out before Joel. Mr. Moto spots me, makes a B-line toward me, gets thisclose to me, sees Joel, turns and runs.) (To be fair, despite the Mr. Miyagi look, Joel got hit on WAY more than I did.) We proceeded to line dance, drink a few too many beers, and breathe more smoke than a 15 year old Joe Camel. At one point, I had to ask a man in a cowboy hat to buy a beer for my SO because the sweet little bartenders would not serve anyone with breasts.

Slow dancing at the Yella Rose

Joel tried to stand up on the moped. I screamed.

Maybe I need one just like it. Blue duct tape and all.

After the YR, we went to the farm to show our friends around. While Megan and I had some catch-up time (I worked at KWC with Meg and LOVE her), the boys began to play guitar and sing. I took that as my cue to sing with them and quickly joined. At 1:34am, Joel and I got dropped off at our house, discussed how we can't remember the last time we were up that late, and passed out fell into a deep slumber.

ONLY TO WAKE UP AT 5AM THE NEXT DAY. Feeling ruff. I drove to McDonald's to get us a hangover cure--two Egg McMuffin Meals with Diet Coke, and we go back to sleep. For almost the rest of the day. Saturday night, we had a wedding to go to, so we literally laid in bed trying to feel normal again all day.

Trying to look super fun en route to the wedding
Saturday night, we attended my friends', Reed and Lindsey's, beautiful wedding and attempted to have some fun at their reception through our yawns and inability to drink alcohol without gagging.

Today, I laid in bed willing myself to get up and complete any of my responsibilities. Finally, we got up and cleaned and made some veggie juice to perk ourselves back up. We went to the farm at one point to take a brisk walk but almost died of heat exhaustion. So we came home, and I continued to clean and get ready for a busy week of work. At one point, I looked at Joel and said, "remember when we didn't need two whole days to recover from one night of fun???"

And this was the funniest thing that happened today
And I got hit in the face with dog toenail. I was clipping CD's nails when one hit me in the eye so hard I thought maybe it had blinded me. I'm, however, not writing this blog with one eye so I guess I'm okay, but in my mind, I have a huge swollen black eye. Joel swears he can see nothing wrong with it. We watched Phonebooth, and my blood pressure skyrocketed. Joel made an amazing egg scramble for breakfast, burritos for lunch, and then helped me make fried chickpeas for dinner. Now he's watching a special on Black Sabbath, and I'm entertaining myself with The Farting Preacher and work (yes, that's entertaining). This is the life we were meant to live. Not one that includes mopeds, too many drinks, or bar-hopping. All-in-all, the lesson learned this weekend is that we are MUCH too old to rock'n'roll.