Stories

these are my stories. they rule.

Rabbit trails and well worn shoes

My boots are ripped. If I’m being honest they aren’t even my boots. They are my roommates. Because of their delapitated nature and appearance I have taken up the assumption that she, a.) doesn’t care for them

                                 b.) doesn’t need them

                                 c.) I’m saving her a trip to goodwill, or the trash bin in our front yard.

So basically these fake Uggs that are completely ripped apart are useless, and somehow they are the only shoes I grabbed as a ran out the door to make my flight.

How is it that every time I travel I wind up with the most useless items possible taking up valuable space in my bags? This has been a pattern in my life and I have never been able to pin point what leads to this occurrence. I could throw out a list of random ideas and maybe come up with a good solution as to why this happens. But I just don’t care to at the moment. And maybe that reason right there is why it happens. I just don’t care enough to figure it out to make a change. Which could also be the reason why when I saw these fake ugg boots torn to bits I said to myself… “You know what… I’m gonna wear those” Because I just don’t care enough that they are ugly, they work. For the most part they stay on my feet, which I guess in my standards deems them worthy of my perfect feet. My feet are perfect, I don’t care who you are, my feet are perfect and I’m not taking that statement back ever. I looked at these fake uggs and thought.. who buys uggs? either people who care too much and don’t know how to make their own fashion choices so they bought them because other girls were wearing Uggs and northface jackets. On the other side of the spectrum of Ugg buyers are the people who don’t care enough. The people who don’t care about anything but comfort. And they were right because they are like walking on clouds. These boots make me think of laying on a sheep skin rug in front of a crackling fire in a log cabin after a long session of love making. (whoa what? love making? where did that come from?) So you get the point. these boots are damn comfortable. But I am not in either one of these groups that would traditionally be drawn to purchase Ugg boots. Which is why the boots I am wearing right now are perfect for me. They are dirty, old, not even real Uggs, and they are ripped across the back which makes the wool burst out around my ankle like a sheep is being smothered inside a torn piece of suede and is trying to escape. Of course these are the boots for me. They have all the benefits of comfort with no pay off of the looks and social appeal. 

However as I sit here staring at all the airport passers by, I wonder if I’m the kind of person that would be a target for, Stacy and Clinton, from What Not to Wear. I could see them ditching a book and a news paper from a gate across from mine and bombarding me.

"Michaela! Your friends seem to think you need a little bit of help." 

"Oh my God.. what is on your feet, what on earth did those poor fake uggs ever do to you?"

My brain works in Rabbit trails, there is no other way for me to think than just falling down an endless labyrinth of rabbit trails and I have to admit they always come full circle. So as I dare to bring you down with me, I want you to know… I have no point, but there will be a point, and it will make sense, but it’s not because I wanted to.

So as Stacy and Clinton are picking apart my travel fashion choices in my mind I start thinking.. How are people so clueless about themselves. How do people dress themselves so poorly? how do people sing terribly on American Idol and have NO idea? What is going on in their heads that what they believe they are conveying to the world and what the world see’s are nothing alike? I am all too curious. Are there things about myself that I think are perfectly acceptable but nobody else thinks so. You always assume that you have the kind of friends that are going to let you know when you have something in your teeth, or your tag is sticking out, or who will cover for you when you farted in a semi crowded room. But there are some things that are just tricky to bring up.

I had a friend all through high school who literally smelt like (grab your barf bag) a rotten pair of underwear.  How do you bring that up? Or take myself for instance, how many people saw me that unfortunate morning when I had a bra stuck to my back like an idiot? how many people couldn’t bring themselves to tell me before that saint of a man let me know.

What causes people to be self aware? Besides Budda obviously.. kidding.

Hmm I’m bored of this

I’m done.

car flare

As I sit in this coffee shop my mind has drifted to a scenario that plays in my head every time I see a stupid bumper sticker, or terrible vanity plate. “car flare” I call it.

When people put ridiculous things on their car I wonder if they ever think, I’ll have to own this someday. When I lived in California it was really bad, so many blacked out trucks with affliction stickers that covered the whole back window. Or the worst, have you ever seen the giant silver ball sacks that hang off the back of trucks. Those are the worst!

I imagine a coffee shop, like the one I’m in. It’s crowded, tons of people trying to just fit in and not make a scene. And out of nowhere someone from the counter yells out to the cafe.

"Hey whoever owns the Black Toyota truck with "my other ride is your girlfriend" bumper sticker please move your car, you are blocking the truck with our pastry order.

Who would willingly stand up and say… umm yeah that’s mine. 

or 

"there’s a silver sebring license plate ‘dadezgrl’ your lights are on. 

What girl goes… oh that’s mine! sorry!

I dunno maybe its happened before, and maybe people aren’t ashamed, but I would be. 

"Cadillac with "puerto rican pride" in old English on the back window, you’re parked in the handicap spot, please move.

anyways, just thoughts. do with them what you will. imagine your own awkward situation.

most embarrassing story ever.

Over the course of my life I have endured many embarrassing moments. I have lost count of the number of times I have been made a fool. Infinite tales of quirky mishaps. I can remember making bold statements like, “I absolutely hate this painting. How do I burn it immediately,” only to find that I am lamenting to the artist himself. Or “Oh God turn this off, I hate this, please anything, turn on Creed this is horrible…. Oh this is your dad’s ep.. ummm” I am a shy girl, yet somehow I suppose that someone up there really does have a sense of humor and he gets a kick out of me looking like an asshole. Ive farted in front of boys (not the cute little puffs either I’m talking SBD “Silent but deadly” the ones that just seep out and smell like something died, for those of you who some how missed grade school) I have had snot fly out of my nose and mouth in public, I have more than once fallen to the ground when I’ve been alone and that’s almost the worst. Doing something stupid without onlookers is so painfully lonely and horrible that you can’t laugh it off and move on. You are left with raw embarrassment and shame, which are the two things that keep me warm at night. That and my homemade snuggie, thanks for the pattern Grandma! What I’m about to tell you is one of the most embarrassing things that has happened to me to date.

Nearly every morning I do the same thing, I wake up ten minutes before I have to leave for work. I brush my teeth, get dressed and leave. On the way I usually pick up some coffee at whatever coffee shop is most convenient. At this particular time in my life, my room was a disaster. School had just started back up again and my room was in complete shambles. My clothes were just piled on the floor, I believe our washing machine was still broken? wait no. No it wasn’t, there is no excuse for the mess. So this morning I grabbed clothes off my floor.

I just decided I’m going to put my screen play writing into practice starting now.

Girl walks into the side door of crowded cafe. Sounds of milk being steamed and people chatting. people look up at her from their tables as she stands in the doorway.She is overwhelmed by the amount of people. Cut to shot of the line of people that goes out the front door.

MICHAELA “Nope”

girl turns around and leaves and gets in her car. Girl drives 30 seconds to another cafe next door. She walks in and gets in a shorter line to order her drink. She looks behind her as a group of men walk in and stand behind her.

CAFE GUY what can I get for you

MICHAELA double soy latte

CAFE GUY that’ll be five thousand dollars

MICHAELA do you mind if I pay you in diamonds?

she fumbles around in her purse and pulls out a handful of diamonds and places them on the counter like lose change. cafe guy counts through the diamonds annoyed. Cash register dings and the drawer opens.

CAFE GUY it’ll be up in just a minute.

(I got bored. the diamonds thing didn’t happen, go with me)

Michaela goes and sits on a stool and grabs her phone, she can barely make out what she’s looking at because she is still half asleep.

Middle aged man approaches and leans in close to discretely half whisper in a spot on Alec Baldwin voice.

MAN excuse me miss (pause) there is some kind of a (pause) bra stuck to your back

Michaela freezes all the color drains from her face. She imagines her prettiest bra that is completely useless but delicate and beautiful. She swiftly reaches behind her and peals a bra from her coat. She shoves it into her purse, grabs her coffee gets in her car and contemplates crying.

And SCENE

Now when I say she “peals it off her back” you might be wondering… what? how? well I’ll tell you how, and this is what this story is embarrassing as hell! It was a sticky bra, the kind of thing you wear with a tank top, or backless dress. It literally adheres to your boobs. Two little (in my case) cups that just stick right to you. This particular sticky bra had basically taken the role of a lint brush after living in a pile of clothing on the floor. God knows what precious little fluffs had been collected by this bra. She hadn’t worn it since the summer, it was ancient, ugly, a nude alien looking bra that had signs of much usage. It is by far the ugliest bra that could have ever been found in a public place. Its the kind of thing that you would never want anyone to see. It is the exact opposite of attractive or arousing. I could imagine a intimate moment in which a woman removes her top and a man awaits, eager in anticipation of what he will behold beneath, and BAM the moment is over and he is crying in a corner because of the hideous nature of a sticky bra.

"Why God WHY?!?" he screams as he twitches and rocks himself cradling his legs like a small child. "Why would anyone make something so ugly? Have mercy on me God and strike me blind!"

alright anyways you get how ugly this thing is. So yeah, that happened. and it was awful. and the latte was crap too! I didn’t even have a comforting beverage. I did however realize the severity of cleaning my room. I curse you sticky bra. you can burn in hell.

Suck it and die sticky bra. suck it and die.

The Midwest

Hello internet,
Long time no see. I’ve been recovering from a weekend trip through our nations farmland, the Midwest. I had the pleasure of being the back up Maid of Honor for a dear friend. I say back up cause the real one couldn’t get a visa in time to make the wedding so I was her stand in. And i don’t mean to toot my own honorable horn. But I will say that I made a great maid of honor. I gave amazing pep talks, made bouquets on the fly and drove 16 hours to minneapolis to be that maid of honor.
If you ever have the opportunity to drive through the Midwest don’t. I’d say fake food poisoning or say you have a gyno appointment. Because the midwest is the most tragically disappointing of all this great nation has to offer. We drove through St. Louis, past the arch. I recall my father saying the arch is the gateway to the midwest but after passing through that “gateway” I have decided it’s better name would be the gateway to depression and a World of Warcraft addiction. Gateway to getting pwnd by the most desolate highways of America. I used to think that Arkansas was by far the worst. I was sadly mistaken after encountering Iowa. The welcome sign reads, “Iowa, fields of opportunity.” to that I say… Opportunity? Lets not get ahead of ourselves Iowa. But I am wrong in saying there is no opportunity in those vast fields. I made up several more appropriate slogans for the State of Iowa which I will share now.
Iowa fields of opportunity for a Meth addiction.
Iowa fields of juggalo’s
Iowa home of the Amish rebellion
While driving through Iowa I lost count of the number of dead raccoons on the side of the road. I began to wonder why? I’ve rarely seen dead raccoons, why were there so many? Was the rapidly growing suicide rate effecting them too? Were they all headed west, like Feivel? Some kind of raccoon underground railroad when they were all slain on their mass exodus out of such a God forsaken state. There were so many that I thought that somehow I was in the beginning of a new M. Night. Shamalan movie. What does it all mean? Where were they headed? Did they all fall off a truck headed to the coon skin hat factory in southern Michigan? I will always wonder. What happened to those poor creatures. Those sweet little trash bandits of the night.
I took this trip with a good Friend Wevan Weese. Who unfortunately did not know how to operate a manual transmission car so I drove all 32 hours. I figured out we spent more time in the car than in Minnesota, Land of a thousand lesbians. It was a trip that I can safely say, will never happen again. And if it has to be made, I will not go without a fight. I will kick and scream the whole way. If you ever get the chance to turn down a trip through the Midwest throw yourself a party, because you made the right choice.
And now with much gladness I close that chapter of my life. Cause even though it was only 32 hours. It was a whole chapter. That drive was like the one song in a musical that you fast forward through. Or the forward of an assigned book. That drive was like puberty, minus getting a cool period and boobs.

Goodnight.

Iowa fields of razor blades and trolling YouTube accounts.

vicemag:

DON’T

Look at this lovable free spirit. He loves the freedom of wandering across America, the freedom to sew crazy signs on his jacket, and the freedom to tattoo incomprehensible shit on his face. ’Cause that’s what freedom’s all about, man. That and forcing an adorable animal to live the same horrible existence as you do.
More DOs & DON’Ts

vicemag:

DON’T

Look at this lovable free spirit. He loves the freedom of wandering across America, the freedom to sew crazy signs on his jacket, and the freedom to tattoo incomprehensible shit on his face. ’Cause that’s what freedom’s all about, man. That and forcing an adorable animal to live the same horrible existence as you do.

More DOs & DON’Ts

I’m not SURE what a Mormon wedding is like… But I’m pretty sure it’s like a funeral

—Michaela