Eyeballs, Dryballs...Jolene Needs to Tone it Down

Again, Ray LaMontagne is an unrivaled talent. So is Zac Brown Band. If I took anything enriching from this last relationship, it is a love for the song Jolene...that and maybe an unhealthy taste for hops. Hardly enriching but definitely enjoyable. Thank you Ex #4. I probably shouldn't be numbering them. I've only had 4 over the last 10 years, and only two years off total in between. That means I've averaged two years per boyfriend. Pretty solid stat if you ask me.

Longevity: pro or con? I think it's a con. It just means time was wasted that you could've been living life......Ouch......That thought shouldn't have manifested itself digitally for the very same reason I shouldn't refer to my past relationships in the numeric sense. I change my mind, none of it was time wasted. They all gave me something lovely....with the exception of Ex #1. He was a real shit. Ex #2 gave me faith in the existence of good men. #3 gave me his heart. All of it. And #4 gave me a special experience I won't forget. Ever.

Heartbeats...they're more than a living flutter. Heartbeats become souls. I think souls are alive somehow. Living, tangible things. Maybe souls are the 21 grams we lose, maybe not. We'll never know. But I hope so.

I admit I've felt like a self-destructive Ray now and again...2010 being no exception. I've seen and experienced a few things during my almost 3 decades that are darker than most people raised in a good environment. But I am more of the Jolene persuasion than the Ray persuasion.

Everyone has their sad sad sob story. It's just my nature to stay in control, keep composed and avoid the great big tragic saga that is Ray. Tragedy is beautiful and I can see why so many fall into the trap of being a pitiful, beautiful wreck. I spent a 5 month period indulging myself that way earlier this year. Shamefully. I doubt that being the mascara monster I was, I exemplified the "beautiful" part of a pitiful wreck, but nonetheless, a wreck is what I was. I'm not one of those people naturally, it was just a cumulative effect of semantics I think. Maybe self-imposed and maybe not. I can't be bothered to analyze it more than I already have done. All I know is I owe my best friends an apology of Titanic proportions. They supported me and I disappeared without so much as a "thanks for for helping me, oh, not commit suicide."

My great weakness may just be that I run away from things at times, rather than stare them in the face and overcome them. That's how I got here in Australia. I've done this I think to mitigate the expense of emotion required to deal with the lows in life. What I've realized is that I can face any adversity, beat it and do so with strength and dignity. You don't need to melt down.

Unfortunately my eyeballs have dried out it seems permanently. It feels like I have wooden marbles rolling around in my head. No amount of water will make them return to their normal state of hydration. This didn't occur from crying - I haven't really even cried - but literally it came about from dehydrating myself by undertaking behavioral habits that are far from being good for me on a health level. Yet another Sunday was spent out on my Australian town, until around 2am when I decided it was an acceptable hour to return home and immediately fall asleep. Sleep keeps you from thinking. Thinking gives you time to acknowledge things that you don't really need to break down and analyze, because they don't matter in the end. Just being happy, fair, honest, living and not hurting anyone intentionally while you're living is really what matters.

I've put 24 new names in my phone over the last three weeks. Just counted. Four of those have faces I don't remember though. I am a friend-making MACHINE and averaging about 4 texts a day from new friends asking me to meet up and fill their awesome cup. Another solid stat. Breaking up his hard to do but it definitely has its upside. Pre-2010 Carrie is returning in full effect. All my old go-to stories are re-surfacing out of the haze. The dry wit and silly banter is slowly creeping back into my social repertoire. Blair and Erin would be so proud that I've been honing my networking skills to such a degree that I'm more criminally friend-hungry than even the seasoned professional friend makers Blair and Erin tend to be at even the most molecular level. They're genetically prone to savagely recruiting people and trapping them in their overpowering friendship web of happiness. If they could just see how goddamn charming and magnetic I've become, they would likely assume I time traveled back to Single Summer 2005 and swapped places with Manhattan Beach Carrie. She was pretty awesome, if I do say so. Erica would probably say she was manipulative and abrasive, but fun nonetheless.

I think the real highlight from these last three weeks being single occurred yesterday at a fine place in town, when Hercules himself asked me for my number.....while I was wearing a cut off t-shirt with a toddler smoking a cigarette on the front of it. Not exactly the most wholesome T, but Apollo the Sun God seemed to like it. No kidding, the guy probably descended out of the heavens on a fiery chariot clothed in Rumpelstiltskin-spun gold, with Cupid on one shoulder trumpeting his arrival to this temporal wasteland, and an eagle on his head dropping bon-bons that make you tall and ripped into his godly mouth.

I'm sort of regretting giving him the wrong number. What the hell was I thinking? Oh yeah, I almost forgot. This is the first time I've been single in 5 years, so maybe another boyfriend ASAP isn't such a glorious idea. Oh well, no big deal, it'll just make him like me more a few months down the road when he passes me on the street and realizes I'm the first chick crazy enough to give him the wrong number. Bingo. Totally salvageable situation.

Steady as Jolene goes....

I should go to church. No I shouldn't. Sundays are too beautiful here to spend them in church. Besides, I can have some God time sitting on a beach. Don't tell my mom that though. I will tell her that myself when the time comes. For now I'm just going to live out of my suitcase, work hard, learn to play the guitar, surf, continue to meet people who will add to my life.....and speak German. I think that's probably what Jolene would do too.

Floozies Cause Earth Rumblings and IRS Audits are Fun

I know it's typical. The Mormon chick from Utah is criticizing Muslim clerics. But bear with me, folks; this sh*t is so unbelievable, my 3-year-old niece wouldn't buy into it if this guy were an animated cartoon on Nickelodeon teaching children how to say "Ammonium Nitrate" in Farsi. Kazim Sadeghi claims that promiscuous women cause earthquakes - mainly a 2003 quake that took place in a place called Bam, Iran.

2003??!! Why the hell did it take you 7 years to finally come to the conclusion that major earth-shaking catastrophes should be attributed to slutty temptresses?? Was your lady caught adjusting another operative's linen tunic? Damn those vixens for showing their wrists when they reach up to trim the hairy danglers crawling out of your lengthy noses.



In light of this revelation, I'd like to say that "I, Carrie, am a giant floozy." Not only do I wear a bathing suit on the beach, but it's a two-piece. Dun-dun-dunnnn.

Like my dad says, 80% of this world is filled with people too stupid to deserve LIFE. Translation: 8 out of every 10 people you encounter should be systematically relocated to an idyllic private isle with a giant sign onshore reading, "Location Name Irrelevant," because it's going to be INCINERATED by nuclear force, simply put.

I really don't think that mass relocation and destruction would be a grim situation. In fact, I'm totally convinced it'd be cause for celebration; similar to the way I now view IRS audits.

Upon telling acquaintances I was "summoned" for an Internal Revenue Service RECKONING, the most general reaction was an agonizing, "ohhhh no, that suuuuuuucks," as if the great William Shattner had just passed on from this temporal world (or something equally catastrophic).

As it turns out, all you have to do is show up to the boring Great and Spacious Building nearest you (Mormon joke - sincere apologies), with the documentation asked of you, and you in turn exit the massive structure either 1) owed money by the government, or 2) financially the exact same as you were when you first walked in expecting your auditor to look like the Mother Alien with a 2nd deadly mouth poised and ready to swallow your proof-positive paperwork substantiating that you're a contributing member of society and not a Jon Gosselin wannabe with less money and more beer gut (if that's possible).

Turns out my auditor was a cherub-faced soon-to-be mother of two who looked like she'd just had tea with sweet forest animals gifted with human speech in a heavenly floral garden setting.

So why do I recommend an IRS audit if there's a chance I could walk away without a refund? The answer is simple. Big government sucks, and any chance you get to flip the proverbial bird to The Man should be thoroughly enjoyed; even if your auditor looks like one of Strawberry Shortcake's rosy-cheeked friends.

Vindicated. I felt how I suspect Susan B. Anthony did in the '72 election (that would be 1872 you idiot) when she did the unthinkable.....she VOTED like the the man-eating lesbian she probably was. Luckily, me proving the U.S. Government wrong wasn't illegal like women voting was back then......and even luckier still?

I don't look like Susan B. Anthony.

Please see her mug at this link (because I'm struggling with embedding this URL for some reason): http://stories.washingtonhistory.org/suffrage/images/anthonyPortrait.jpg

GOO. Clearly that broad was not a bikini-clad, earth-quake initiating floozy.

"Cocaine Flame in My Bloodstream...." ~Ray LaMontagne

Zac Brown Band's song about Jolene has been spinning around my head for weeks now. Sure, it's a legit tune, but I think it's more likely the frequency with which I've heard it that's caused this condition to occur. Also, it about sums up how I've felt since my last post IN NOVEMBER (whaaat a hackjob blogger I am).

Completely in shambles is a light way to put it: confused, liberated, lonely, excited, hopeless, ambitious....basically I'm schizophrenic. Just waiting for my Lithium perscription to get filled. For any of my friends who read this half-assed blog and haven't heard (all 5 of you), here is the "official" announcement: I am not going to be changing my last name this summer after all. Sorry my voicemail box has been full for the last 9 weeks. Anyone looking to buy an unnaturally long wedding dress? I can give you a screeeeaaaamin deal.

Easter occurred this last weekend in case you guys missed all the pastel. I spent it in San Diego with a friend I know through work. Nothing eventful happened with the exception of the earthquake but I had a pleasant time nonetheless. Pleasant is such an unfair docile word to describe my weekend. But nonetheless, it describes what I've become over the course of these last 5 months. Docile. Non-confrontational. Tepid. Pretty much the equivalent of a perfect Muslim woman, minus the burka, pork aversion and belief in an absurd religion. Man I hope there are no Taliban or Al-Quaeda operatives reading this. There you have it: narcissism rears it's pretty head. I'm sure it's HIGHLY likely they're performing covert internet reconn analyzing data from the blogs of Mormon chicks from Utah. Totally viable.

Which brings me back to my Easter story. This one is my favorite:

I was about 12 when we had our last family Easter egg hunt. We did it for Gabriel because he was just a little guy at the time. The rest of us were so cynically "cool" by the time we each hit 10 that hunting for eggs took a backseat to naps, dinner, In Living Color, Star Trek the Next Generation and pretty much everything else that typically took place at the Bowers household on the Sabbath aside from church.

Gabe was so unbalanced during this time that we were legitimately concerned he'd grow up to be a serial killer. LEGITIMATELY. He handled criticism and simple stresses like sounding out the word "h-a-n-d" about as well as Charlie Sheen and his pregnant, cracked-out spouse handle life. I still remember the veins in his bright red forehead pulsating like a Jedi light sabre any time he got angry. PSYCHO.

My older brothers, Ben & Andy, and I all obeyed my mom and hid eggs in the backyard for Gabe to scavenge. My greedy little Gollum-like brother dug around the yard like he was looking for the "precious" and surpassed all of our expectations when he'd unearthed all but one egg within a mere five minutes. Trust me, we made every effort to make the task as difficult as humanly possible for Gabe, because we simply enjoyed watching him suffer like the little apprentice cat-killer he was.

Yet still Gabe prevailed....all but for one egg. My brother Andy had taken the liberty of ingeniously hiding the last treasure in an outside light socket with a protective metal flap over it. He wedged the egg between the flap and the wall and we watched Gabe sniff around the yard looking for it eagerly while Andy positioned himself against the wall of the house right next to the spot where the action would take place.

Gabe giggled with excitement when he spotted where the egg was hidden. He ran for it laughing triumphantly because he considered the find a win versus his older siblings for once. As he neared the wall to retrieve the last, most validating Easter egg, he reached to pull it from under the metal flap, but before he could touch it, Andy beat him to it.....by smashing the flap with his hand, thus causing the egg to explode like a pumpkin dropped from 1000 feet.

The hysterics that rose out of Gabe were earth-shattering. He sounded like he'd just watched his entire family be buried alive before his eyes. Ironically, his hysterics were completely hysterical to us....in the funny way. We cried with laughter and made fun of him the rest of the day; standard procedure in our family when you embarass yourself with weakness.

I'm so glad the name Gabriel Bowers isn't a name you can find on the Wikipedia "Notorious Serial Killer" list. We're such a blessed family;) Haha. With my current state of Schizophrenia though, who knows....I've still got time to become as institutionally nutty and self-destructive as Zac and Ray were for Jolene.....or worse, I could end up like we all thought Gabe would.

Kidddddding.