So You Stabbed Yourself... No Big Deal.

I feel like things happen in my house all the time; things that make people say "Only in your house". Last night, while waiting for Brandon to come over, my mom and I were talking in the kitchen. She was slicing cheese and ended up stabbing her hand. Blood starts squirting out all over the cheese, counter, and well everywhere. Calmly, she looks at me and says "I think I cut myself". She was in shock so I seemed to be the only one freaked out. I ran to the laundry room, grabbed a sock, and wrapped her hand up. I asked if she wanted to go to the hospital, again she answered calmly "No thanks, but you should go get Anil." Anil is the Indian doctor that lives across the street. I started to head for the door but she stopped me. She asked me to clean the blood off the counter and off the cheese bag. I thought it less than important but did as she asked, then she proceeded to ask if she looked ok. Her state of shock hindered the importance of the blood gushing out of her shaking hand. Again, I headed toward the door, I grabbed the only pair of shoes close by and slipped them on; the shoes were about three sizes too large, causing my run to transform into a shuffle. Brandon had just pulled up to the house and saw me shuffling, without stopping I explained to him that my mom cut herself and he was to go with me. Together, we arrived at the neighbors house, Padma looked extremely confused to see me in my pajamas accompanied by a stranger on her doorstep at ten. When she opened the door I explained what happened and requested Anil to come with us. Her response was, "I'll see if he wants to come."..... If he WANTS to come..... Nice. She closed the door on us and a minute later it was opened again , allowing me to explain it once again to Anil. He then closed the door and came back another minute or so later, it felt like we just stood there forever waiting for a response. Padma came through the door and started yelling at us to call 911. Their accents were so thick that the decoding of their words came a few seconds late making the conversation slightly funny in my mind. We walk away from their house with Anil while Padma continued to yell out the door to call 911. When we returned to my house my mom greeted Brandon as if nothing happened. I looked at her hand and noticed a blue bubble where pressure had been applied. the skin around her wound had swelled up substantially. The doctor wrapped her hand and told her she should go to the hospital to get some stitches, then he left. Brandon and I offered to take her to the hospital but she declined and asked me to wash the cheese bag... yum, bloody cheese. She took some pain killers and started laughing about shanking herself..... Only in my house do we stab ourselves and laugh.

A Question on the Heart.

A literal hole in a heart, present at birth, is called a Congenital Heart Defect. A person suffering with this type of heart defect can live for years. So my question is...

If a person can live with a literal hole in their heart, is it possible for someone to love with a metaphorical hole in their heart??

I think it is definitely possible. We have all been hurt, maybe by friends, family, ex's... doesn't matter we all hurt sometimes.... But even with mild trust issues, a person can love again after learning how. I have been hurt by people but i'm falling again.
That's high school for ya' deal with it

Confessions of the "Average" Working Girl #2

Part of my uniform includes nonslip grip shoes...... although they are "nonslip", with a little grease and water the place turns into a damn slip and slide. Today while walking into the kitchen i tried to dodge the water and ended up stepping on a sweet potato.... yes... I stepped on it while it just chilled out on the kitchen floor.... Needless to say I went on a little ride.... and yes it was extremely embarrassing. i quickly grabbed my bucket and picked the potato up and scurried out of everyone's vision..... My pride was shot a little.

Confessions of the "Average" Working Girl #1

Since work has become my most frequent activity of choice I deemed it appropriate to blog the events that occur behind the scenes of a restaurant.
I have recently become an employee at a local steakhouse.... I bus tables... Not only am I a busser, I'm currently the only female busser.
As the only female bus at the restaurant I've picked up a few fun facts....
1) A lot of people wonder if I'm straight or not.... I am.
2) Seems as though the only males to find me attractive while covered in gunk....are gross themselves.
3) Bathroom checks for the chick room...... EW FREAKIN' EW... ok?
4) The dishwashers will speak Spanish because they think you don't understand... tisk tisk.
In all honesty I love my job so far. Most of the people are chill and I have an excuse to be elbow deep in filth.
I hate the douche bags that complain about their jobs all the time..... If you do that, you suck.
If you haven't noticed, a lot of people are really trying to get jobs right now so if you have one you are already lucky. Even if your boss is lame, even if you don't get paid a ton, a job is a job so stop complaining or quit.
Be happy with what you have and make the most of it because your life could one day flip and you'll be begging for anything you can get.

Gotta Secret Can Ya' Keep it?

I'm not really an open book.
So I open up a little..... don't get used to it.

Sometimes my face is blank and the emotions are covered. Sometimes I smile and giggle, that's when the emotions are practically untraceable. As previously mentioned, I have a fortified barrier surrounding myself. A few individuals in the past have slipped through the diminutive cracks, but that certainly does not mean that those individuals are immune to the fight I put up.
Sometimes I cry.... You caught me! I'm human. I don't make a point to cry a lot, especially where people can see.  I'm a little afraid to let people catch me cry... My hypothesis' as to why include:
1.) Looking vulnerable in front of others.
2.) Pity being cast to me from others.
3.) People I don't even like/know asking me about why in the sole purpose of gossip.
As hard as I try, I still cry from time to time. Because I don't cry too easily, when I start it's often hard to stop. I let it all out. When i'm really upset the walls around me become jello-like.... the walls wobble and wobble, but its nothing a good spoon and empty tummy couldn't break. With a big enough spoon you could possibly break into my cage...but I doubt i'll exit the cage as easily as you entered.   You see me cry and you are a little relieved to see that I own a softer side... but don't be confused. You look at me like maybe i'm an angel underneath  innocent and sweet.... until the next day when again the mask is placed upon my face, and the emotional trace is covered.
If you see me crying and I let you in, don't think that the walls are gone. The walls may be my close friend for the rest of my life. Don't look at it as a sad thing either, because I don't... I'm comfortable this way.  Just because I let you in for a minute, does not mean I give you a residence pass. This blog is the closest thing to an EZ-pass available for my life. I'm not something you can just fix. I don't want to be fixed. I don't need to be fixed, and if I did... I wouldn't need you to fix me.
When you get past the wall i'm almost a different person, you can see me from a whole new perspective. But I assure you, as soon as the warm tears dry on my pink cheeks, you are removed from my safe zone....

I'm human. I'm comfortable this way.