A Feral Angelo - a made up story.

My favorite (only) brother Morgan and his boyfriend, Angelo, came to visit recently. It was only the best time of my life because they are my favorites.

One of Morgan and my favorite past times is to make up stories about people - we can go on for hours about the group of people sitting at the restaurant all wearing the same type of shirt. They are clearly a cult. Clearly.

While they were here we did a lot of stuff and mainly drove my car everywhere. At one point Angelo attempted to get into someone else's car assuming it was mine. Well...

Me: What if Angelo had gotten into that car and stayed there...not knowing it wasn't my car?

Morgan: Yes. He fell asleep in the back because he was so tired from all of our activities.

Me: Yep. He falls asleep waiting for us and wakes up in a dark garage.

Morgan: Because the car owners didn't see him back there - sleeping away.

Me: Of course. He's all snuggled up. He wakes up and it's dark and he's all 'Whaaaa? Where am I?"

Morgan: He doesn't have his phone because he left it here, in your actual car - so he can't call for help.

Me: Of course not. He gets out of the car and goes to knock on the door into the house and the people answer...and they're naked. They're nudists.

Morgan: God, yes, of course they are. Nudists. Just naked. They invite him in and are super friendly.

Me: They won't let him use the phone - they don't have electricity...they have, like, burn barrels IN the house.

Morgan: And no wifi. Uuuuuughh. They want him to join their nudist colony in this weird house.

Me: They walk on all fours...not even like, hands and knees.

Morgan: Feet and hands.

Me: Finally he gives in...what's that called...?

Morgan: Stockholm syndrome. He gets naked and he's living in their world. Burn barrels...

Me: No wifi...no electricity...

Morgan: Monsters.

Me: He can't escape even if he wanted to - their are bars on the INSIDE of the windows and doors.

Morgan: We find him and we knock on the door...and he's all 'Guys, I live here.'

Me: And we're all, "It's been 45 minutes...."

Morgan: Right?!

Angelo: What are you guys talking about...?

Here we are making up a story about you right now...

It's basically the funniest thing you've ever heard.

Good morning...never.

If you know me personally you know how much I loathe the morning time...well, not the actual "morning", but the act and necessity of having to remove myself from the comforts of the bed. It's just the absolute worst.

I've never in my life been a morning person - with the one exception being Christmas morning, because Christmas is my favorite and I still go to sleep with butterflies in my stomach and wake up with a dumb grin on my face. Because I'm a human with a heart and soul.

Momma is the definition of morning person. She wakes up singing songs and twirling around sprinkling fairy dust on everything or whatever it is you morning people do. Momma had several ways of waking Morgan and I up in the mornings of our childhood, I will outline them here for you to cringe at.

• Open bedroom door - yank open curtains - sing some ridiculous song about morning time and smiles.
• All of the above PLUS tearing the blanket off of our sleeping warm bodies.
• All of the above PLUS sitting on our bed, bouncing up and down and tickling us because she's the devil.

THEN. THEN, she gave up on all of that because Morgan and I are terrible, horrible people and would yell at her and make mean faces and kick her off of our beds. That's when she deployed the most terrible and awful way to be woken up. She would literally annoy us awake. (I know, the things above are pretty annoying - but just you fucking wait.)

Here it is. Here is what she would do. From the second floor - she would yell up to the third floor where our bedrooms resided. She would yell:

Amber. Amber. Amber. Morgan. Morgan. Amber. Morgan. Morgan. Morgan. Amber. Amber. Morgan. Morgan. Amber. Morgan. AmberMorganMorganAmberAmberMorganAmberMorgan. AmberMorgan.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat forever in the most monotone voice you can think of.

During all of this we are yelling - STOP IT. PLEASE. GOD. STOP. OKAY. OKAY. STOP. WE'RE UP!

We weren't up. We lied. Sometimes we would drag our sleepy bodies to the top of the stairs and yell down FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING IN THE WHOLE EFFING WORLD WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP MAKING NOISES WITH YOUR FACE?! WE LOVE YOU. DON'T GROUND US. ALSO, TOASTER STRUDEL. TWO PACKETS OF ICING BECAUSE ONE PACKET ISN'T ENOUGH.

So, why? Why can't I just BE a morning person? I want to be. I wish I could be cheerful and happy in the morning, I don't want to be hateful and terrible - I just am. Morning are just so hard. They're usually cold. My face is all sleepy. My limbs are sleepy and don't want to work. My brain is all, "No. That dream was good - let's go back to that!". If I wake up to my alarm clock - which I will snooze for approximately an hour - I'm not horrible to anyone. BUT if a person wakes me up, UGH, just, don't.

I've tried several "tricks and tips" to becoming a morning person and they just make me more grumpy and tired. I've given up - I will just remain...whatever the opposite of morning person is. Fantastic? Yes, that must be it.

An ideal world...

Medicated Traveling

I'm not a good flyer. I have to medicate - Xanax is my preferred method. Morgan is the same way. We had to fly quite a bit when our parents divorced and momma decided Alaska was a great transition...from Louisiana. Morgan and I would fly back and forth during the summer to visit Daddy, family and friends.

We did great on our flight to Alaska - Morgan had a fresh set of stitches on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt from a gash he received while playing baseball with a pipe. Of course this happened right around the beginning popularity of Harry Potter movies. Oh yeah, and he wore glasses. It was perfect. Two kids traveling alone across the country being stopped by strangers constantly. Piece of cake. We weren't traumatized at all.

Right before (the night before) we would be flying home for the summer that year Momma decided to take us to the cinema. "Oh, a film! Fantastic, what did you see?" Final Destination.

*blink*

We saw Final Destination. Why? Hell if I know! I felt fine after seeing it - it's just a movie for goodness sake.
Just. A. Movie. Yeah, it was "just a movie" until Morgan and I were headed to board the plane and I blacked out. Of course, I thought I blacked out. Actually I misplaced all of my shit and pushed everyone out of the way as I drug my poor brother through the crowd back to momma while screaming "We're all going to die probably!" Needless to say, no amount of coaxing could get me on that flight. I would like to take this moment to apologize to my step-dad Jack who at this point hadn't really seen anything like this and really acted honorably by sitting out of the way and pretending like he didn't know us. So, sorry.

We were put on the next flight - momma gave us some anti-anxiety medication. We woke up mid-flight and had the best meatloaf sandwich we had ever tasted. We still talk about it. So very good.

And that's why when we fly now we take a bit of anti-anxiety medication, we're adults so sometimes it is accompanied by whiskey. Don't judge, it's rude. (Note: this medication is prescribed to us - we do not advocate drug abuse or taking medication that does not belong to you or isn't prescribed. Drugs are bad. Also, drinking while taking medication is probably also bad. Consult your physician.)

Morgan is traveling right now for some fancy meeting for his job. He called me at 8:30 am. Here is a basic transcript of our conversations.

8:30am
A: Bueno (don't ask)
M: What time do the bars open at the airport?
A: I don't know...now?
M: Hmm...I'm going to check. They open at 10.
A: Wow. I feel like they should be open all the time.

9:00am
M: Okay, so I took half a xanax about an hour ago...when do I take the next half?
A: When do you board?
M: In like, 30 minutes.
A: Well, I usually just take a whole one an hour before then I sit at the gate, then when we board I stand up and can't feel my legs. That's how I know I'm okay.
M: Yeah, I like that but I need the half before I get to the airport.
A: I understand. You need to take the other half now.
M: Moment of truth - half or whole?
A: Half
M: Too late.

Then he boards - he calls me when he gets to his layover a few hours later.

A: How's that xanax treating you?
M: Well. I sat next to two old people on the flight - the wife wouldn't let me go pee because her husband was asleep.
A: Seriously? It was 10 am, did he not sleep at nighttime like he was supposed to?
M: Also, I thought I saw Stanley Tucci in the bathroom...but it wasn't him. Upon further inspection the only similarities between this guy and Tucci was the bald head.

15 minutes later...

M: I've just learned, Adbbhell Jameson is really tall
A: Who?
M: A double Jameson. It's tall. And big.

Tall and big.

Another One...

Another post where I have nothing to share, nothing to write about...but I felt like I should write something. Y'know?

I could share a story that belongs to someone else...you want me to do that? I will if you really want me to. Okay, you twisted my arm. This story belongs to Morgan. He says "hi" by the way.

A few years ago I was living in LA pursuing my dream of becoming the most fantastic person that ever was - I succeeded by the way. I was headed to work and had to take the bus - either my car was inoperable or it was that time that all of my parking tickets caught up with me and my car was impounded. 


After a few minutes on the bus we are all informed that the driver has to go 500 miles out of the way because a million roads are closed - Obama is in town - of course. This being the day I had to open the store, it made sense that the President of the United States of America would make me late. Taking me 20 blocks away from my desired destination, I finally got off the bus - the driver tried to tell me that he would be circling back around but I don't trust bus drivers that drive buses. It's a thing.


There I am walking in the sweltering heat, dressed in all black, wearing sandals and being mad. Mad. I'm headed down this narrow strip of sidewalk bordered by street and offices. Scowling. I look up and see Dominic Monaghan walking towards me - but like a thousand miles away. So it begins - the awkward "hallway" walk, where it's only two people walking towards each other for miles and you have nowhere else to look, nothing else to do. You don't want to say 'Hi' too soon, you don't want to wait too late...It's maddening and I hate it. Finally we were close enough and we both said "Hi" and I mumbled, "Thank God that's fucking over with.".


I walk into work and am greeted by a coworker, my only response: "Well, I saw that LOST guy today."


The cherry on the fucking cake of life? Obama wasn't even IN TOWN! IT WAS A DECOY!


And that's the story of how President Obama introduced me to Dominic Monaghan.

Apparently so...apparently so.

And there you have it. Now I will get busy making things happen so that I have more to tell you...if you want.

Accidental Thievery

Years ago, about 8 years...I think, I don't know. Whenever it was, I think Morgan was in middle school. We lived in a really nice neighborhood and he would often bike to the local grocery store.

One day he returned from the grocery store with a bike that wasn't his own.

Morgan: "You won't believe what happened!"

Me: "What?"

Morgan: "Someone STOLE my bike and left my theirs!!"

Me: "sigh"

Morgan: "Isn't that insane?! What assholes!!"

Me: "Morgan. Let me get this straight. You left your bike on the rack, went into the store, came back out and your bike was gone but this one was in its place?"

Morgan: "...  ...  ...yeeeeeessssss."

Me: "Morgan. You just stole someone's bike."

Morgan: "No....no...wait...no. Oh no."

He kept it.

And this is where I tell you of our fear that we have somehow committed a crime and don't know it. Both of us have this fear. Whenever we see a cop we think, "Oh God. Did I rob a bank and not know it? Did I shoplift and not realize it? Did I murder someone by accident and not even KNOW!?" "How am I going to prove my innoncence when I don't even know what happened!?" "Where was I yesterday?" "Where was I today, oh God. I've killed someone haven't I? Jesus."

And that was a peek into my brain. I hope you survived.

Paranaoid Parrot.

We think the exact same things.

Proud

Today is a post where I brag about my brother. Because I love him and because I want to. And because one time I slapped him in the face because he followed me all the way from the far away barn on our farm to our house while yelling and throwing rocks. I still feel bad. I don't think he gives a shit, hell he might not even remember. That? Is love. Also, an example of how I don't let things go. One time he pulled down my pants in front of the gas station. So there.

After high school my precious Morgie Porgie went to California to attend MUD - Make-up Designory. When he left I cried like he was never coming back...even though he was coming back in a few weeks for Thanksgiving. Then he went back after Thanksgiving...I may have cried even more. Then he was gone for awhile...then he was home for summer or something...and then he went back...and then I finally had to upgrade to a Blackberry to increase my texting speed. I don't even know how people can text without a full keyboard. So inconvenient.

Then he got all done with make up school and came back home to get his business degree. Isn't he amazing? I know.

THEN he worked at a local furniture chain because OHMYGOD do you know how hard it is to get a job at the MAC counter at Nordstrom?

So, guess what? HE GOT THE JOB FINALLY! YAY! Hero of the day!

And guess what else he did in between all of that? Met someone else that is amazing, Angelo!

And guess what happened to Angelo this week also? He became manager of the salon that he works at.

What an amazing week for them and an amazing life coming up! So, that's what this is about. Saying that I'm so proud and happy to be a part of their lives and couldn't imagine a life without them.

There he is. Cute.

 There he is with my favorite girl.

There he is with my favorite boy.

 And there is Morgan and Angelo.

Even they can't believe the magnitude of the awesomeness contained here in this photo.

I'm On Empty.

I have got a case of blogger's block...I think. Well, last night I had something and was all "lightbulb"! But now, I'm all...."where's the lightswitch?".

So, I added some things to the "About" page. Check it out. If you want to. If not, then either you don't care about me or you feel like you already know everything about me and in that case I am sorry to inform you but you are wrong. Or, you're Morgan, but you're probably not because he's too busy to read my blog and I tell him everything anyway so he doesn't have to read it but if you are Morgan, then "Hey Morgie! Call your sister.".

This is us and this is what every picture we take together looks like.

Our poor mother.

Go Here

My brother has amped up his blog to complete and utter awesome amazingness. Right?! You didn't think it could happen did you?

Don't know what you should be into fashion wise? Let him tell you. He's never wrong.



Go here and be blown away with fashion awesome confetti cannons.

PS: He will ask you to buy him expensive things. I suggest you do it.

Happy Birthday Morgie Porgie!

Today is my little brother's birthday, he turned 21. Finally, now he can drink legally...whoops.

Born on this day in 1988 Samuel Morgan Wade was a small town boy, son to a farmer and his wife. No, that's not it. He was born to our parents and was blessed to have a kick ass sister like me. Well, he would know how kick ass I was until just a few years ago because until then we fought constantly. When he was a baby I was very protective over him, then he grew up a little and started talking back, holy shit, I didn't know he was going to do that.

Pretty soon he would look at me and then I would yell at momma that he was looking in my general direction and then she would yell at us that we 'would both be gettin' our asses whooped'.

"You're brother's name is Samuel, why the hell do you call him Morgie Porgie?" Because I want to that's why, shut up. No, seriously, that's my answer.

I could write all day about our lives growing up. That one time that I let him drive the golf cart at the farm house and he ran over his tricycle and we were practically pushing eachother over to tell momma because we figured whoever told first would be in the least amount of trouble.

That time that he got hit in the forehead with a pipe while playing baseball (don't ask), wound up with 18 stitches in the middle of it and he looked like Harry Potter for months (taped up glasses to boot).

Oh, how about that time that he was being such a brat and he pulled my pants down in front of the general store!

Though we fought like brother and sister for so many years in between I am so happy to have such a great relationship with him now, he's a great friend and brother and I don't know what I would do without him.

Okay, that's all the sentiment you get. Asshole.