Timberrrrr

I'm currently in Oklahoma City volunteering at the Big 12 baseball championships. Everyone who works the championships is...

*Time the hell out. The BEST THING EVER just happened at the championships. I'm typing my blog in this side room up in the press box and some huge guy just walked in and reached up his crack to pull his wedgie. He didn't see me in here. When he turned around to see me he looked mortified. I die.*

...supposed to wear the shirts given to us. Today's shirt color is pine green. When I think of pine, I think of my dad cutting down pine trees. When I think of pine trees falling, I think of me falling. Did you know that I pass out more than any other person you know? I don't have any sort of medical condition, but when my body thinks that I'm in too much pain it freaks out and makes me fall down.

Passing out all started when I was barely two years old. My mom said that I used to sit in my high chair and push off the kitchen table so my high chair would fly backwards. I guess I'd hit my head so hard on the wall or floor behind me that I'd pass out like a dead person. So, in honor of my pine green shirt, I thought I would share with you a list of my top passing out moments.

1) Following my sixth grade year, one of my classmates had people out to his house for a barbeque. Me and a few of my classmates were playing basketball and out of nowhere a basketball came flying at my head. I wasn't able to put my arms up in time and it pegged me right in the nose. I remember doing a little passing out/stumbling dance as my classmates tried to veer me away from a skateboard on the cement. But they weren't quite quick enough to catch me and I went face-first into the ground.

2) In seventh grade, my friend Mary and I made state FCCLA for our amazing speech about not smoking. (Smoke is No Joke, my friends. I mean, I have never smoked...) On our way to Lincoln for state, we stopped at a McDonald's for lunch. While I was waiting to order, Mary offered me a few of her french fries. About two bites into my fry, I bit the shit out of my tongue. I don't know whether it was the taste of blood or the salt in my wound, but I got light headed and started falling toward the Happy Meal stand full of Furbies at a high rate of speed. When I came to, my mind tricked me into seeing J.C. Chasez standing over me. After mumbling "J.C...J.C...?" I realized that "J.C." was actually a Hispanic McDonald's worker. Embarrassante.

3) Mary's seen me pass out a time or 17, so when I got really drunk at her place a couple of years ago and sprained my ankle walking down her stairs, she knew I was going to tumble to the ground. She saved my life by running up behind me and catching my head as it went flying toward the cement.

4) Last year, I slammed my finger into a metal drawer at work and had enough sense to sit down in my chair so I didn't hit the ground as hard. However, I still managed to pass out in my chair, hitting my head on the keyboard. When I came to, a series of "fffffffffffffffffffghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh" were written across my Word document.

5) Sophomore year of college, I managed to miss a class thanks to passing out. I was climbing out of bed one morning to rush to class, but managed to skin my ankle bone on my lofted bed's ladder, causing me to pass out and fall to sleep on the ground. I told my professor the story, but he was pretty skeptical.

6) Oh yes, and then there was the time last summer when I drank Dr. Pepper and it went down the wrong tube. I started freaking out because it hurt so bad (all those bubbles somehow hurt my throat) and I passed out standing up. Jacy was in the kitchen looking at me like "what the truck?"

Okay, I'd better get back to work. Enough storytelling for the day!

Hair

I can't sleep for some reason. I think it might be the anticipation of a thunderstorm, but I think I'm anticipating nothing because the weathermen never seem to be right anymore. Maggie and I are considering dropping our day jobs to become weatherwomen and I truly believe we would be able to predict the weather better than the fools at the National Weather Service. Can't you just see us rigging up an old Ford with aluminum foil (make-shift weather antennas) and making our own "Dorothy" to send up into the clouds? Dream big, right?

Anywho, since I was procrastinating my packing for Oklahoma (leaving tomorrow morning, so naturally I wait until the last possible minute), I decided to color my hair tonight. And coloring my hair made me think of something my mom said to me last time I was home. My sisters and I were talking about something stupid and my mom interrupted the conversation and looked at me with sympathetic eyes and a goofy smile, and said, "I'm so surprised you don't have a hair complex." But Ma, why-so-ever would I have a hair complex?

And then she reminded me of these:

EEK, EEK, EEK!

BECAUSE I WAS A WALKING BAD HAIR DAY!!!!

I have naturally stick straight, thick, dark hair. But my mom thought it would be hilarious to give me a perm every few months. Not only did she have a gigantuan daughter, but she gave her gigantuan hair. I'm surprised people didn't throw birds nests in my hair - or maybe they did? I mean, check out that last picture.

After reminding me of what she did to my hair, I soon realized that I DO HAVE A HAIR COMPLEX! I've never in my life had long hair. Wanna know why? Because deep down, I'm scared my mom will sneak into my room while I'm sleeping and perm it so I look like that kid in the last photo again. And have you ever met someone as scared of hair as me? Probably not. I'm freaked out by human hair more than anyone else I know. And have you ever met someone who colors and cuts their hair more than I do? Seriously, before tonight do you know when the last time I dyed my hair was? Yeah, it was one week ago. And before that? Yeah, a week before that, too.

Hi, I'm Jessica Schwager, and I have a hair complex.

Baby Titties

If you know me at all, you know that I really don't care for cats. Nor do I care for dead things. (But who really cares for dead things except for maybe undertakers?) There is reasoning behind my dislike of both dead things and cats. Let me take you back to a time when I had a bowl cut and hideous amounts of freckles....(eighth or ninth grade)

My friend, Maggie, has three younger brothers, Ben, Dan and Jon. Ben's only a couple of years younger than Maggie, but Dan and Jon are, like, eight years younger. Only 11 months separate the two youngest boys...her parents were busy. :) Since I didn't have any younger brothers myself, I always thought it was fun to head out to Maggie's house and play "Batman and Robin" or "Fort" with her brothers. I looked pretty damn sexy in a Batman chest plate, just sayin'. One day, her brothers wanted me to come out to their house to play with their new "baby titties" (baby kitties).

Once I got to their house, the boys took me out to their garage and had me play with the other cats and dogs while I waited for them to get the box of newborn titties. Jon carried the box over to me, as Dan just kind of stood there with a smirk on his face. Those boys were always up to something, so I figured the kitties were vicious or something and they were going to attack me when I petted them. But when I looked into the box, the little balls of fur just laid there. They weren't so scary after all! So I reached my hand in and gently stroked a little calico kitten. Awww...that wasn't so bad. However, the kitten wasn't reacting to my touch at all. So, I petted another titty and it didn't respond either.

What the...all of a sudden the world started spinning. I got the kind of spins that made me almost want to throw up. When I looked up from the box, I noticed Dan and Jon laughing their heads off. Those little twirps made me pet DEAD TITTIES!! SICKKK! I think I had the dry heaves for about 10 minutes. Who knows how long those cats had been dead?!

Thank heavens for little boys...

Kickball Khallenge

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_VkBjfU4tg

School Days, School Days

My first final got over a little earlier than expected today, so now I'm just waiting around in the computer lab in the Teacher's College basement for my next final to begin at 3:30. I should be studying, but I don't think my brain can retain anymore information. If I don't know the concepts now, I'll never know them. Well, and I can't focus because some douche is playing his guitar down in the computer lab. Like a real live guitar. Who does that?

As I sit here, I'm filled with anxiety, nervousness, worry, but also hope for the future. One exam separates me from being done with school forever. I feel like I'm being broken up with a little bit. Since even before Kindergarten, school has been a huge part of my life. My mom is a teacher and some of my earliest memories are from the inside of Chambers Public Schools. She would take my sister and I to school in the mornings so the bus driver didn't have to go out of his way to pick us up. I loved being a teacher's kid. My friend, Bryan, is also a teacher's kid and I felt like we were in on a little secret or something. Many times after school, while we waited for our moms to wrap things up for the day, we'd head to the high school science teacher's room to learn all sorts of fascinating science experiments. The science teacher recognized our love for science and even made both of us science geeks our own magnetic pencil contraption. It's funny that 10 years later when I was taking physics, the science teacher told me that I was "like a ball stuck in a gutter" because he was losing patience with me and my struggles with physics. Too bad, because I could have been an engineer or something.

I always enjoyed going to class in elementary and high school, but I think school lost a little of its luster (now that's some alliteration!) when I got to college. College is supposed to be everyone's favorite part of life - the drinking, the hook-ups, the utter craziness - but for me it was more work than fun. I found going to class to be a chore mostly because I focused on my work more. While some of my friends got constant monetary help from their parents, I did not. I was forced to work for my rent and food. I hardly had time for my friends because I was so busy. Now don't get me wrong, I did have my fun, but I don't think it was in the same way as some of my peers. I never got the chance to show up to class drunk off my ass because usually I had to work after class (and I'm not so sure how being drunk at work would have worked out...). I've always been an old soul.

So, despite the anxProxy-Connection: keep-alive
Cache-Control: max-age=0

ty right now, I really feel like it is time for me to move on. I'm ready to break up with school and find a hobby. I don't think I'll ever be a corner-office 8-5 chick, but I would like a regular schedule in my life. And I want to take piano lessons. And try out community theater. And go horseback riding. I'm excited to see what life has to offer outside of college.

Now that I'm a little less anxious and the guy in the computer lab stopped playing his guitar, I'm going to get back to studying. Wish me luck!

*Update on Pa*

You know how I was telling you about disco super fly guy in the last post? Yeah, well, he's a creep. Big creep. Last night I went to bed early because I was still hungover from the crazy night before. Anyway, between 1 and 1:30 I got FOUR texts saying, "Hey, ma, you still up?" "Why you ignoring me?" "Girl, you sleeping or what?" "You asleep?" UH, HELLO MR. McCreeperson. AND those texts were following the text I had sent him earlier saying, "Hey sorry I'm super tired, talk to you some other time."

Mind you, I had only met this guy ONCE and I don't know what he looks like, talks like, smells like. But I know what I looked like, talked like and smelled like Friday night and it sure wasn't pretty. A) I was a hot mess. Like, my dress was riding up to my waste half the time. B) I couldn't string a sentence together if my life depended on it. Just ask Brandon what Goldschwager's quote of the night was. and C) I was permeating vodka and lime juice. HOT MESS. Nevertheless, I still got texts like these yesterday from the creeper...

This one was after I told him I was probably going to move to a different state soon. Basically, I just said this so he would leave me alone.
"I need to make sure I spend a lot of time with you before you disappear on me with your sexy self. You do know you was looking good last night. I bet you even look good when you wake up in the morning."

Then there was this one:
"Thank you for being the eye candy that you are. Probably taste like candy too huh!!!"

Oh and this one (after I had told him he just had his beer goggles on, and I was in fact a really sick looking girl):
"No no goggles I liked what was in front of me that was you and (take this as a compliment) all your voluptuousness if that's a word. if it isn't it is now."

I'm calling Viaero right now to see if his number can be blocked from my phone. Guys, don't be creepy. Thanks.

PS - Jacy's tip to the ladies. She snagged two men this weekend by telling them that she knew who they were and she had crept on them before. Apparently men find this very flattering because they immediately asked for her number. Here's the moral of this blog: Fellows, DO NOT BE CREEPY. Girls, creep all ya went. Or, as Pa would say, "Get down wit ya bad self."

Smooth Criminal

I pulled the smoothest stunt ever last night. Take notes.

I saw this boy that I thought was disco super fly, so I decided to pull a pick-up artist move. He was standing outside of a bar, so I acted really distraught and threw my purse to the ground and said "Goddamnit, why can't I find my cell phone?!" Then he looked at me like I was nuts. And then I said, "Hey, here's my number, would you call me to see if it is in my purse?" So he called me and my phone went off (because it was actually in my frickin' hand. That part wasn't so smooth). And OUILA! He had my number. So we chatted for a second and then I left. Guess who I heard from this morning? Yup, hots mctots texted me. I am amazing.

However, now I'm in a bit of a predicament because I don't have any clue what he actually looks like. Beer goggles got the best of me, so I cannot even begin to picture him. He keeps calling me "ma," so there's that...