Thank God for the Second Amendment.

I probably should be in bed right now, as I have a three-and-a-half hour trek to make tomorrow, but tonight made me think of a story that I have yet to share on this blog. And it does indeed involve Jacy (The other half of this blog. You probably don't know her because she never, ever writes on here. I've given up hope.)

Anyway, a few drinks with friends tonight (whose names will remain anon to protect the identity of my friends) and some storytelling made me think of my own story from long ago.

Picture it: Somewhere between Chambers and Ewing, Nebraska. 2003. Or was it 2004? Anyway, picture a wintery evening at the Schwager household. No parents. Just three daughters trying to survive in the blistery winter evening. Or was it spring? I really don't know. I'm an English major, so I'm taught to make shit up. (Some like to call it fiction.) However, this story really did happen. Parts of it anyway.

My ma and pa had left the ranch for a few days on a trip to Vegas, and had put my older sister, Gina, in charge of taking care of me and Jacy. If you really don't know anything about the dynamics of my family, just know this: We are the epitome of birth order. I'm the peace keeper, while Jacy and Gina fight all of the time. Well, they don't really fight too much anymore because they've both become more mature. ha. ha.

One particular night, while my parents were still away, Gina and Jacy lost it. I couldn't even tell you what the fight was even about. They were probably fighting over something stupid like who won Monopoly. For real. They're like that. But anywho, that's not the point. The point is that they frickin' lost it.

The fight began with words - lots of cunning spit-fire back and forth, back and forth. Gina and Jacy are the queens of the "last word." They could go on for hours just shouting something like"Pickles" as long as "Pickles" was the last word. The verbal fight continued for a while. I tried to distract them, but it was no use.

Eventually the verbal war turned into a full-out brawl. I know I said Gina and Jacy were good with words, but they may be much better with fists. They started hitting each other with little things first...dad's backscratcher...mom's flyswatter... you know, the norm. I'd interject with a, "For the sake of this family, please stop making fools out of yourselves," or, "Hey, I'll get you all a bowl of ice cream if you stop right now." Food always worked for me, but my offers were no use.

It wasn't until the two started picking up the kitchen chairs WWE-style that I came unglued. I honestly couldn't take the madness anymore, so I did what any normal and sane 15-year-old would do....

I grabbed Dad's rifle and aimed it at them. Then I probably said something along the lines of, "You best shut the f*ck up, mutha f*ckers or I will bust a cap in your @$$." (Chambers is full of gansters.)

Mind you, I didn't really have any intentions to shoot, but I guess the wild look in my eye proved differently. The two ya-hoos stopped fighting immediately and listened to every word that fell from my lips. Although Gina and Jacy still bicker quite a bit, I have never, ever seen them act so stupid again. To this day, I bet images of Dad's rifle still dance in their heads when they even think about fighting.

See, guns really don't kill people. They just make them shut the hell up.

Bittersweet Symphony

I'm not really one for being sad or carrying on or anything like that. I've always welcomed change and gone with the flow. But I'm having a bit of a bittersweet moment tonight.

As the final seconds of the game clock ticked down during tonight's Nebraska game, I became a bit overwhelmed and a bit misty-eyed. For five years, I had been apart of something so great, so amazing, something completely unbelievable. Most of the time I shrug my job off, complaining of the pay or the hours I work. I never, ever, got caught up in the hype of working for Nebraska athletics. I wanted to play it cool, act like running into athletes everyday was normal.

But believe me, it is not normal. No matter how many times I run into Tom Osborne or Ndamukong Suh, I still lose my breath. Working for Nebraska athletics will forever be one of my most cherished moments.

Now my time at Media Relations is coming to a close. I celebrated my own "Senior Day" at the Nebraska-Kansas State football game tonight. Never again will I step foot in that press box as a student worker. People keep telling me it's just a job, that I will get over it. But I don't know how I'll possibly get over the fact that I got to greet Mr. Tom Osborne every other day in my cubicle. Five years of my life has been devoted to the Nebraska Athletic Department and it will be so hard to turn my back on something so wonderful.

Although I have no idea where my next path may lead or even if I'll stay working in athletics, one thing is for certain: There truly is no place quite like Nebraska.

Just jiggle it...

I really like Jacy being at the College of Hair Design. Wanna know why? Because her family members get a College of Hair Design discount! HECK YEAH! This discount has really helped me find my inner fake broad. And it all started off with a fake bake - the healthy way - with a spray tan!

Last week, I went to the CHD asthetics school to get a spray tan per Jacy's suggestion. The tanning experience was unlike any other. I was forced to strip down into bathing suit bottoms, where I was then instructed to lie belly-up on a crazy "Hostel"-like bed. (It's actually some sort of fancy shower than manipulates the body's muscles and fat tissues, but it looked like a killing machine...eek!) Then, a CHD student came in and rubbed me down with all sorts of exfoiliators before spray tanning me. Everything went alright in the spray tan, well minus the fact I had to wear disposable underwear! Yeah, awkward considering they resembled a g-string. After the tan I had to air dry in front of a fan for 20 minutes. My spray tan lady had just left the room and I was standing almost naked in front of a fan and a mirror with my arms up to dry the tan. In such a position, I noticed the lovely fat deposits that hung from my arms. So what does any normal person, standing spread-eagle in front of a mirror do? Jiggle their arm fat of course! About five swings into my arm-fat jiggling, I looked up to find that my spray tan technician was staring straight at me... with a horrified look on her face. Then, instead of pretending like she didn't see anything, she had the audacity to ask me if everything was okay. I just gave a little grin and said it was weird how the spray tan clung to every hair on my body.

Needless to say, I went in again yesterday for another spray tan and I requested another lady to do my tan. Things got a little too personal between me and the first lady...

Ya'll should check this out...

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