he stepped out of the shadows...

...and into the hallway. To be fair it may be more appropriate to say he stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway. That's right, friends. I saw my motherfucking vomiting neighbor. Now, if you haven't been reading my blog since I started writing or you haven't gone back and read the archives (shame on you), you must read this post about my vomit-tastic neighbor.

Now that you have read aforementioned blog post, you understand why this is a big deal. I've lived in this apartment for over a year now. I lived next door to the most vomiting person on the planet and I've never seen him. Not once. Never have we passed in the hallway, taken the elevator together (what, I live on the third floor and take the elevator...deal with it)...we have never seen each other...that is until this morning. I got up to go do some impulse spending at Walgreens and grab a cup of coffee. Upon my return I got to my door and his door swings open. I almost wanted to turn my head to the side so I couldn't see the man behind the...vomit veil....let's run with it and pretend it makes sense. I couldn't resist though. I looked right into his throw up eyes and responded when he said hello. And you can bet your sweet ass it took everything in me not to blurt out, "So, what the fuck is up with all the throwing up? I mean seriously. Not only are you seriously playing with the health of your esophagus and teeth, but I am worried about my plumbing." 80% worried about my plumbing 20% worried about his health. Sorry...I don't know him. I have to say though that I was disappointed. In front of me stood a slightly pudgy Asian dude. Totally dorky. And not at all bulimic looking. He had hair, that needed cutting, pretty much ruling out the chemotherapy theory.

So, I am sort of pissed at him for letting me see him. He has ruined the magic. Now every time he throws up with the violence that I have come to know and expect....I will see he dorky ass vomit face and it will be slightly less funny.

Why vomiter? (Yep, you are downgraded to a lower case letter) Why did you ruin my throw up dreams?

crazy loves to party

At about 11 o'clock this morning, I was riding a nearly empty bus downtown on my way to run some errands. I was settled in to my favorite seat on the bus (yes, I have favorites...don't judge) and was enjoying my Starbucks coffee and the peace of the quiet bus....when the doors opened at the next stop.

In busts a woman who loudly announces, "Let's get this party started!" She continues down the aisle dancing the whole way. She stopped a few times, stepped back, and continued on dancing. "Parrrrrrtyyyyy!" she sang. Awesome right? But wait, it gets more awesome. She chooses the seat directly next to me (despite the fact that there were only about five other riders and a plethora of open seats) and instructs me to dance, "walk it out," and "shake that body." While I appreciated her enthusiasm, I don't think that 11:00am or the 145 is the time or place to "get the party started."

So, sadly, her efforts were in vein. The party never got started; however, there is always tomorrow...or the next bus.

ey, ey

I love my friends. And, I love their stories because they definitely add value to my life.

My best friend has been dating her boyfriend for almost six years now. Wow, I just now realized when I typed it that it had been that long. Anyway, as would happen in a six year relationship they have discussed children once or twice. (And by once or twice I am sure the numbers are up there in the hundreds because come on people...it has been almost six years.) Anyway, besides the normal hesitation about children there has been one hurdle she has felt needed to be overcome before ever seriously going down the baby road. And, it isn't marriage or joint home ownership as you may think. Nope. It is....

Captain. Don't be fooled into thinking that it is alcohol she doesn't want to give up. Truth be told, that will be a hurdle in and of itself. Yet, alcohol is not the problem. No, no, my friends...it is Captain. As in a name. As in Captain Edwards...the name her boyfriend has proclaimed will be that of his first born son. Captain. Captain, of what? Life I guess. Captain. That's right. Like the child's name would be, Captain. A name, I don't even know I would use for a dog. Captain.

Good news though. She recently spent a long weekend with her boyfriend at the beach and the topic of children's names came up. When asked what he wanted to name children one day, he responded, "I don't really know. I haven't given it serious thought." Which was a secret victory for my friend and for their future child.

Looks like Captain went out to sea never to be heard from again. We hope, at least, because I am NOT calling any baby Captain.

if there was any one thing that could make me smile...it would be this

Just in case you were concerned that I missed this amazing little nugget of news:

PHILADELPHIA — A New Jersey man is facing charges after police say he intentionally vomited on an 11-year-old girl and her father in the stands during a Phillies game…

Police say Clemmens made himself vomit on an off-duty police captain and his daughter after a companion was kicked out for unruly behavior.

I didn't. One word: AMAZING!

one day...

...one of these little guys will find a home in my bedroom. (I think the cheetah is my favorite.)

(via Berkley Illustration!)

saving the best of last is for assholes

I've never really been athletic. I don't like to run. Hell, I barely like to walk. And for the record, this didn't start as an adult. I didn't like running around and shit like all other little kids. So, naturally, I wasn't a big team sports sort of girl growing up. There was one exception though, T-Ball.

The town I grew up in in New Jersey was fairly small. My brother and I pretty much knew everyone on our t-ball team and my dad, who was one of the coaches, knew all the other coaches.

While I was on the team, I wasn't always really into the game. I'd get bored and walk off the benches to go swing on the swing sets that were next to the field or I would wonder off with a friend. I just wasn't too into it. Add that to the fact that I was the last to bat every time. My dad would lovingly tell me that they were saving the best for last and I had to wait my turn. At four maybe five years old, I didn't like this answer but I accepted it. I was, in fact, the best.

The coaches (and sometimes the parents in the stands) would call me back to the field when it was time for me to bat. This is where things got interesting. The ringer of Bohm's Sod Farm T-Ball team would step on to the plate. Watch out mother fuckers. I meant business. It is true that my business meant missing the tee every now and then. I dare you to try to hit a stationary ball perched on a tee some time. It isn't as easy as it sounds. Back off.

When I did make contact with the ball, it was magic. Suddenly it was clear why they were saving me for last. One for the win. Home run should have been my middle name. I'd hit the ball and take off running. The kids on the opposing team would yell, naturally, as I ran around the bases. I couldn't bother with them. It was my moment. A fuckin' t-ball legend. I'd make it to home and return to clapping and my dad picking me up telling me what a good job I did. Saving the best for last, that's for damn sure.

The concept of saving the best for last was something I really took with me long after my t-ball days were over. It really made sense to me. It seemed like a good motto to live by.

However, it wasn't.

Yes, I didn't learn this until years after my t-ball hay-days. My jersey number, 0....yeah I forgot to mention that one...well, it wasn't just luck of the draw. And saving the best for last? Well, turns out I wasn't really on the team. They were just letting me hit once everyone else did. Nothing I did really mattered. All those "home runs?" Fake. Oh, and the cheering and yelling. It's true that there was cheering from the parents in the stands who knew the real deal, but the yelling from the opposing team's players...wasn't in support. I ignored their "but she didn't even touch the base" or "let me tag her coach" as I ran by them. I didn't pay attention to the coaches holding the other players back to keep them from tagging me with the ball. I was in my own world. High off of the saving the best for last glory of it all.

square state

So, my bestest bestest friend is in town. We are two wild girls let me tell you. We are sitting in my bed drinking coffee and looking at my google analytics for this blog. I went to the map overlay from the day I started writing until today. Let me tell you I was a little too excited. Cambodia? Thank you for spending 20 minutes here! Sri Lanka? Slovenia? Wow. But, let's talk about you America...


I was looking at the US map and I have to say that I was excited- 45 states. But, why do you not like me: Maine, North Dakota, South Dakota, New Mexico, and square state that is not Colorado? That's right, I said other square state. My friend laughed, but then said she didn't know what state it was. There we sat for a good three minutes trying to figure it out. We are very intelligent I'd like to say, but geography apparently is not our forte.

We eventually figured it out. So, I'm looking at you Wyoming. Start reading. Please.

Thank you.

(P.S. As I read this to her before hitting publish she said, "Wait, is Colorado square?" I hesitated, looked at the map and said, "Yes, of course it is.")

put on your bladder control undies for this one

First, someone posted this question on Yahoo Answers:
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20081017195134AAWT7Ez

Then someone made this:



Then I died laughing.

(@vaieel i owe you my first babby for sending me this)

for rent

I got some rockin' news slipped under my door the other day. Yeah, they came to my house to deliver it! If you are thinking that I got a big check with my name on it and cameras and balloons, you may want to stop reading. You will be terribly disappointed.


Anyway, I got my lease renewal. I know what you are thinking, "It's January. Your lease doesn't end until May. Why so early?" I don't have an answer for that. I thought it was weird too. But, when I opened the package they slid under the door I was hit in the face with some awesome news. First, if I return the lease renewal by February 1st, I will get half off May's rent. And, here comes the best news of all. Sit down. My rent is GOING DOWN! Yeah! When does that ever happen? I know, like, never!

I am taking this as a sign that good things are coming down the pike and not just in the form of $2o extra a month. (This does mean that I will have to potentially endure another year of the vomiter, but I think I am okay with that.)

p.s.

The person using the computer next to me (at the public library) smells like pure grain alcohol. This= Awesome!

next stop: awesomeville

Something totally amazing happened this weekend and no it was not that I threw up in a sink at a bar (which may or may not have happened).

This is my third Christmas in Chicago and I've begun to loose faith...I see posters and I hear people talk, but never have I witnessed it. All of that changed this weekend.

I saw it...


The em effin' CTA Holiday Train! Could there be anything better? I mean, I wouldn't even fight if they raised the fare to $4 if it was decorated year round. But, it won't be. It will be gone soon. Regardless, all faith has been restored. Thank you CTA Holiday Train. Thank you for making this girls holiday dream come true.

left overs

Sweet gsus it has been forever since I last wrote a real post. And I guess I have proved myself quite the liar with the whole "for real, tomorrow...I'll write tomorrow," crap I did a few days ago. In my defense, when it was a today...it clearly was not tomorrow anymore...it was today. So, I had to wait until tomorrow came. Right?
Anyway, Thanksgiving and Cuddle Gate 2009. So, I took the train from Chicago to New Jersey because I am a touch crazy about flying. Another story all together. I was pretty jazzed about the trip though. I had a couple really good books to read, some movies, and lots of sleeping to do. I bought dinner to eat on the train because we pulled out of Union Station at 6 something in the evening. Real fast, train travel is the way to go if you are a late person. I mean, not that I am or anything, just saying. I mean, I am assuming that you can show up at the train station with a little less than 30 minutes before you train leaves and still have plenty of time to check your bags and board and stuff. Just a guess.

So, I board the train and see that I am assigned an aisle seat. Not. Happy. (Jan.) I get ready to put my stuff down and this youngish guy says, "Are you in seat 27?" Why yes, yes I am. He responds, "I'm 28. Looks like it is you and me babe." Ugh. With his use of the word "babe" to me...a total stranger...I knew what I was about to do next was totally going to work. "Oh, I am totally jealous of your window seat." (Bat eyelashes, pout lip, girl stuff, girl stuff) "Take it. It's dark out anyway. I'm not going to see shit anyway." Yes, it worked. And, he is apparently an idiot. I don't want to see anything outside. I wanted to lean against the window while I slept. What I didn't know was that this whole plan would fail. Majorly. With no window...he had very few options for where he would rest his head when he slept. And, if we get technical, he chose two options...my right boob and my left. We will get to that in a second.

We have barely gotten out of Chicago and he proceeds to tell me that he is 36. Divorced four months ago. Don't worry, it was his second marriage. He has three kids. Two boys and a girl. The girl is 18 months old. Both of his ex-wives are strippers. He is done with strippers. He has been on a train since yesterday. Oh, surprise...he is traveling to the SAME DESTINATION AS ME! 24 hours together he proclaims. "We have a lot of time to get to know each other." I think, "I can't fall asleep soon enough. Does anyone have any horse tranquilizers? I would rather not get to know him further. They can be for me or for him." He continues to say that he is traveling from Texas. He hasn't been outside of Texas in 15 years. He is moving to Atlantic City to live with his dad. Winner. He can't wait to live in Atlantic City because there is "so much to do there." Oh, he is super drunk too. Sort of like frat boy drunk, but not frat boy because he didn't go to college. He lists everything he has had to drink in the last 24 hours. I wonder why he is not dead. He tells me he could never live in Chicago because there is "nothing to do here. It is the middle of no where." He again says he is very jazzed to live in Atlantic City where there is "so much to do: the beach, casinos, strip clubs, bars. They have everything." I am officially over him at this point. No you don't dis on my city! I tell him that there is surprisingly a lot to do in Chicago because it is...I don't know...just the third largest city in the country. (fact) He shrugs his shoulders and says we can talk some more, but for now he is going to go get a drink.

He comes back about two hours later...just when I am trying to go to sleep. He mumbles about being drunk and making out with some girl a few cars up. Confusing the hell out of me. Whatever. He says that she will probably "totally sleep with [him]." He asks me if he should go back and "do her." I say he definitely should because I want him gone. He leaves again.

He comes back about 45 minutes later. I have my eyes closed at this point. He ignores this and puts his arm on my legs and leans in and tells me has my back. He "won't let anything happen to me." I, stupidly, entertain this conversation and ask if he is talking about on the train because I doubt he will have to "get my back." He tells me he loves me and that even though we don't really know each other well he thinks I am a "really awesome chick." I ask if he even remembers my name because I know the answer. Surprise! He doesn't. He begs me to tell him and I say, "Emily," and roll over. He goes on and on about how Emily is "such a sexy name," which I don't even understand. How is it sexy? Like, would it wear hot lingerie if it could? Apparently it would because he says it is "mad sexy." He tries to cuddle in to me and tells me that he didn't sleep with that girl. He tells me she is a "freak." Funny, coming from him. He asks if he should bring her back to our seat. I am over this. He then says she would get really jealous if she came back here and saw us together. This is odd because we are most definitely not together. I tell him to finish his drink because I do not want the red wine in his plastic cup to spill on me when he passes out. I roll to the side and go to sleep.

I wake up several hours later and wish I could show you in person what I saw. I looked down to find his arm around my waist. And, his head resting on...MY BREASTS! We were entering a station and the train was going slowly and bumping around. I watched as his head bounced on my tits. Awesome, right? Funny thing is, I was faced with a decision and ultimately felt that leaving him there was my best bet. I didn't want to wake him up and start the talking machine. I went back to sleep.

snuggie

Okay, I'm gonna just give you a little nugget of a story from my 23 hour train trip. You will have to wait for later for a full recap.

Did I wake up with a very intoxicated man snuggling up into my breasts with his arm around my waist? Yes, yes I did.

spice up your life

I always had pet growing up. There was always some animal or something living in our house. Most of the time it was dogs, but we did have our fair share of fish, turtles, cats, and hamsters.

My younger brother was probably too little to remember the turtles or the hamsters...and he wasn't even alive for the cats. But, he always asked for a pet of his own. You see, we had a dog for the majority of his life. The dog was mine, Alfie. Although he was a "family" dog, he was really my dog. He was given to me for Christmas in seventh grade. He was probably the best present I have ever gotten. I loved him like he was my child.

It wasn't that my brother didn't like Alfie. On the contrary, he loved Alfie. He just wanted something to call his own. So, after much begging my parents gave in and bought him a hamster. I'm not really sure why. We had done the whole hamster thing in the past. It never ends well. Hamsters are kind of boring pets. They don't do much. You lose interest after a while. Its probably a terrible thing to say, but it's just the truth. But, for whatever reason, my parents decided on a hamster for my brother.

My brother went through an interesting stage in late elementary school. He was very into music. I'm sort of at a loss of words for how to describe his musical taste, so I will just share that he named the hamster Baby Spice. That's right, after the Spice Girl.

We quickly learned that Baby Spice was no regular hamster. There was the whole incident a few months after we got her when my mom was very concerned Baby Spice was pregnant because she had a weird "growth." My mom called the vet to describe what the hamster looked like and to have her suspicions confirmed. Turns out my mom was very wrong. Baby Spice was definitely not pregnant...she just had giant balls. That's right, Baby Spice was a boy. She was a he. Even after learning her true sex we never changed his name.

But, the mistaken gender issue aside, Baby Spice was unlike any other pet we had ever owned. (Forgive me in advance because I will probably get the the gender appropriate pronouns mixed up from time to time.) Yes, in addition to being well endowed, Baby Spice had a taste for adventure. He was constantly escaping his little hamster cage. Nothing ever stopped him. At one time he chewed a hole through the side of the plastic hamster cage just to get out. Baby Spice went missing on more occasions than I can even recall. His favorite thing to do was to escape and run through the air vents of our house for a few days. He would usually come out after we would set up food and call him through the vents. But, for the sake of entertainment I will list for you some of the most memorable places Baby Spice was found including the length of time that had elapsed from his escape.

1. In a small trash can, waiting to be emptied, that was sitting on the steps leading to the garage of our house- missing for a couple of days
2. In the bushes in the front yard- missing for about a month
   
3. In the air vent in my bedroom- missing for a couple days
4. In the air vent in our laundry room (lured out by a song my mom made up about Baby Spice...and food)- missing at least a week
5. In the garage- missing for almost two months

Yep, Baby Spice had a taste for adventure. We were sure that last trip was it. After over a month went by we were sure Baby Spice was gone. We cranked up the heat and then the air hoping to flush him out of the air vents if that is where he was hiding. No luck. So, we sort of gave up. With no weird smells we figured Baby Spice found some pack of wild hamsters and was gone for good. Or dead somewhere. It was the middle of summer and it was over 100 degrees almost ever day. How could one little hamster survive all alone? Apparently by taking up residence in your garage and eating through a 40lb. bag of dog food. That's right. I found Baby Spice in our garage really late one night. I wanted to wake everyone up in the whole house because I was so amazed. It was like capturing Big Foot or spotting Loch Ness. Baby Spice was considered to be gone forever and he was back!

Since it was late I left notes on every one's bedroom door saying to check Baby Spice's cage...he had been brought back into captivity.

Turns out captivity didn't suit him very well. He died the next day. You took the whole, "give me liberty or give me death," thing a little too far don't you think, Baby Spice?

Needless to say, we will never get another hamster. You should think about not getting one as well.

my boo boo(B)

So, I may or may not have changed my Facebook status to, "booB!" this morning. It was very mean of the Blackberry people to make the B button the same as the exclamation mark button. Surely they foresaw this problem and got a big kick out of it. I guess it serves me right for trying to use two punctuation marks in a row. I should know better than that.

Happy Halloween!

(Me circa 1985-ish... just before societal pressure kicked in for me and every other girl to wear a slutty costume.)

all aboard

So, I came to this realization the other day that I haven't seen my dad in over a year. That just seems like such a long time. It is not because we have some strained relationship or tension. We don't. I guess that not seeing him has become normalized for me and I let a year get away. There is much more detail I could go into about my relationship with my dad and whatnot, but I will leave that for another post. Today, I will be talking about what came from my realization that it had been 15 months since I had seen my father.


Visit him. Yep, pure genius. I know. Amazing isn't it? With all this time off. Not working and all, why not visit him? Money has been a factor, but I came up with an even more ingenious plan. I called my dad up and said, "Wouldn't it be great if I could come to New Jersey for Thanksgiving?" He said that it would and I responded, "I have been thinking. What if you bought me a ticked to come see you for Thanksgiving? That could be my Christmas present. You wouldn't have to get me anything else."

So, a ticket hasn't been purchased at this point, but I am feeling pretty optimistic that it will be. I am actually really pumped. Not that I don't get excited to see my dad and the rest of my family...it is just that it feels like it has been so long. I am excited to just hang out. Eat lots of good food. Do a puzzle with my grandmother. Show my grandfather pictures. Laugh with my cousins about stuff we did when we were kids. Just enjoy my family. So fingers crossed that everything works out.

Oh, and because I don't do things without a touch of crazy I need to note that this ticket I am requesting is an Amtrak ticket. Before you go freaking out that I am opting to spend 20 some hours on a train as opposed to 2 hours in a plane, I need to explain. One, I do not like flying. I actually hate it. I actually feel like someone is torturing me. Terrible. Anxiety. This doesn't mean I don't do it. I do, but when I have all the time in the world why do I need to go the quick and painful route? Second, I actually really enjoy the train. Like, I embarrassingly love it. I. Heart. Train. And third, the ticket was cheaper because it is like the busiest travel time for airlines. People normally don't have the time for train travel over the long weekend that is Thanksgiving. I do. So, I am going Amtrak.

However, the above does not really get at my crazy. This does:


Yep, somehow I found myself on the Federal Railroad Administration Office of Safety Analysis website looking up train wreck statistics. Awesome.

trying to get to the bottom of things...

I am just going to begin by saying that the entire contents of this post may be completely inappropriate or way more information then you want or need to know about me. But, this mouth isn't filtered. Sorry. Deal with it.

I called my older brother last night to chat. I text him earlier in the day and he said he would call me back. I was getting impatient, so I called him around 6pm. He said, "Oh weird. Don't do that again. I was just thinking that I forgot to call you back and then the phone rang." I'm pretty much a psychic...if you didn't know that. Just letting you know.


Anyway, we talked about our plans for Thanksgiving and then I interrupted him and said," Wait, real fast, can I ask you a question? I just started drinking coffee so I don't know if this is normal. Does your pee smell like coffee if that is all you drink for the morning? Normally my pee doesn't have a smell because I drink so much water, but today it totally smelled like coffee."

Brother is laughing uncontrollably.

I continued, "Like, I know your...or any one's pee smells weird if they eat asparagus or something like that, but does coffee do the same thing?"

Brother still laughing.

Me, "I'm serious." I start laughing.

He never really gave me an answer. He said, "Emily, you're a freak. What happens in your head?"

I didn't know how to answer that. I don't know. All I know is what happened in the toilet. And, it smelled like coffee.

Really?

I'd like to think that most people preparing to use a toilet in a place where this sign is posted have, in fact, used indoor plumbing in the past. Is this a problem? Do owners of public toilets have to deal with the hassles of cleaning up after people that are fishing in the toilet? Or, marking it like a dog?

I will argue with the makers of this sign that two of the improper uses are actually the correct way to use a toilet, if you are 1) a guy, or 2) throwing up.

It's a little chunky...

It's time to get serious here.

I'm not even sure how I haven't blogged about this before. Perhaps it has become as natural and normal as breathing that I forgot to mention it. Perhaps I was trying to avoid talking (or blogging) about it. It can be somewhat of a taboo topic for some...I guess some people just get uncomfortable. But, I can't let it go unmentioned anymore. It is time to talk about the elephant in the room (or the next room in this case). That's right, boys and girls, I'm talking about my neighbor. The vomiter.


Side note: I was enjoying that build up and could have gone one much longer. I love that it made it sound like I was about to reveal some deep dark secret or something. Mwuh-haha...I laugh and tap my fingertips together. I fooled you this time.

Okay, a little background. So, I moved into my apartment at the end of March this year. My apartment leasing company was awesome enough to allow me to move in early since April 1st was in the middle of the week and it is much nicer to move on a weekend...when friends are off of work. Anyway, I moved out of a house that I lovingly call The Orphanage after living there for about a year and a half. It was very fittingly called The Orphanage, as in the year and a half that I lived there I had a total of eight roommates. That's right. The front door was definitely revolving. Needless to say, it was nice to finally get my big girl place and be alone for a little while. My first night here was odd. It was so quiet and no one was home...no one would ever be home but me. No one was there to say goodnight to me or turn out the light if I fell asleep with them on. It was just me in my quiet little....WHAT THE FUCK? Suddenly I heard the most violent vomiting that I've ever heard. And trust me, I've heard some violent vomiters. I used to asked my friend Stacey to quiet her vomiting when I was hung over because it was too loud and making me sick. No, no, this vomiting...the vomiting I heard on my first solo night in my apartment blew all other vomiters out of the water (the toilet water). This vomit was intense. As I lay in bed unsure of whether I am disgusted, impressed, or concerned I think to myself, "Wow, someone had a bad night." Without much more thought about it I rolled over and went to sleep. Yay new apartment.

I woke up the next day still super pumped about my new place. I had all but forgotten about the vomiter. I was too excited to be in my new place. Yes it was a big change, but one I had been looking forward to for a while. I spent the first day running errands, unpacking, and enjoying my new space. As I am sure everyone knows, moving is exhausting. My first weekend in my new place was not spent going out and celebrating. No, it was spent unpacking and going to bed early. So, I snuggled into bed for my second night in my new place and began slowly drifting off to...WHAT THE FUCK?!? He's back. Seriously dude, AA much?

What I learn was that the events (i.e. vomiting) of that first weekend were not going to be isolated. This dude meant serious business. Serious vomiting business. I came to learn that his vomiting didn't follow any schedule. Nope. He vomited in the day. Sometimes early evening. Sometimes at night. He wasn't time discriminatory. He lived to vomit on no man's schedule. The only thing that was habitual about the vomiting was the frequency and the rhythm. Oh yeah, three big hurls at least once a day. Every time. Always the same. Huwahck. Huwahck. Huwahck. Done. (Yes, h-u-w-a-h-c-k. That is how you spell the noise made by a vomiter. Look it up.)

The vomiter has become quite the legend amongst friends and family. Everyone knows about him. We all have our own theories as to what is causing this chronic vomiting. Alcoholism. Terrible gag reflex when brushing his teeth. Chemo therapy. Bulimia. Weak stomach. There are so many theories. All I know is that this guy is a mystery. Like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster. I've never seen him. I've been living next to the dude for over six months now and have not seen him once. I really am beginning to wonder if he is he even real? It isn't just me though. I've had witnesses here to experience the vomiting. It is always the same combination of shock and amazement.

Okay, the other day I was awake at about 6am and he was up to his old vomiting ways when I realized that if I stood at my peep hole long enough I would probably see him exit his apartment. I couldn't bring myself to do it though. It is almost like how you don't want to know to real identity of a superhero. Next time I heard him vomit would be like the Christmas after you find out that there is no Santa Claus. It isn't even worth waking up at 5am to see what your mom bought you at the mall. It ruins the magic.

I did have a friend say that I needed to find out what he looked like because what would happen if I hooked up with someone and it turned out that the person I hooked up with was the vomiter. I shot this down pretty quickly because the fatal flaw is that I am pretty sure if I hook up with someone, regardless of whether it is my apartment or theirs....one of us would be all, "Hey, weird. We are neighbors." I would quickly gasp and be all, "Hey, weird. You vomit like all the time. What's up with that?"

In a way I feel like we are a match made in heaven. I once had a friend tell me that I spend like 60% of my time fake throwing up...this vomiter has given me so many more ways to work vomiting into conversation and to do some fake throwing up.

So, in a way, I guess I should really thank the Vomiter (that's right, he deserve a capital letter now) for all that he has done for me. Thank you Vomiter, you complete me. You had me at Huwahck....

Again with F*cking Disney stuff...

I just got off of the phone with my little brother. He called because I emailed him this video. You see, after I wrote my last post with this video linked I became nostalgic and started watching other videos. Twenty minutes later after singing along I had this out of body experience where I saw myself watching effing Disney videos on youtube at about 1AM...I wanted to hide from myself because it was that embarrassing.

Anyway, I sent my brother the video (linked above) because he was this huge Lion King fan when he was little. He would bring all of his stuffed animals into the living room and blast the soundtrack. It always ended up with him hobbling around and triumphantly holding his Winnie the Poo stuffed animal up in the air (a la Rafiki and Simba).


Oh, he would also sit at his little plastic piano and pretend to be Elton John as he would sign along to Can You Feel the Love Tonight.

As a twelve year old, I didn't find this cute. As an almost twenty-eight year old (yes, my birthday is one week from today even though I am sure you already know that because it is on your calendar and you have a countdown just like I do), I think it is adorable and it makes me miss my brother.

This brings us to today. He called to say he got my email and it made him laugh. He asked what I was doing and why this even crossed my mind. I explained the whole Little Mermaid link from my last post and he started laughing. He then busted out, "Look at this stuff. Isn't it neat? Wouldn't ya think my collections complete?" He laughed. I laughed. And then I said, "Wouldn't ya think I'm a girl, a girl who has everything." He again laughed, as did I. Then he says, "I've got gadgets and gizmos aplenty." To which I joined in, "I've got whozits and whatzits galore. You want thingamabobs, I've got twenty." Five minutes later finishing the song off...we officially became losers.

This, right here, is why I need a job.