Im back. . .

Dear gentle readers,

I apologize for my extended absence; “Birthday Week” turned into “Birthday Month,” which then turned into “Birthday Season,” and the alcohol is just starting to make its way out of my system. I can't tell you just how much it sucks to awake from a 3 month-long booze daze only to realize that you're 30, jobless, and somewhere in the backwoods of the deep, deep South. My plan was to keep drinking forever. . . If I never sobered up, the reality of no longer being a twenty-something might never set it. But in hindsight, that was a terrible plan. To be honest, I barely made it through three days of drinking. Why? Because I'm old as shit now.

So here I am. A little bit older, a little bit wiser, and a little bit closer to having a complete fucking breakdown. 30. THIRTY. In honor of this wretched occasion, I've compiled a list of why I hated turning the big twenty-ten.

1. I've accomplished pretty much nothing in my 30 years. Like, literally, nothing. I think I may have turned a few ex-boyfriends gay, but that's all I've got. 
   
   
2. I am officially the creepy cougar at my old college bar. This was a hard one to swallow (Haha. That's what she said!). It wouldn't be so bad if I were the type of cougar that all the 21-year-old college boys were intrigued by, but this is not the case. The only looks I'm getting are the “What the eff is this old broad doing in this bar?” kind. And those are just no fun at all.
   
   
3. For the last year, I've been under the impression that I could still pass for 23. Not because I'm full of myself, but because people tell me this all the time when I get carded. Unfortunately, I wasn't paying much attention to exactly who was feeding me this bs. Of course I look 23 to a seventy-year-old. But to an actual 23-year-old, I might as well be their mother. To counter the depression I feel when someone actually guesses me as 30, I've started lying UP about my age. Example: Person: “How old are you?” Me: “thirty-seven.” Person: “Wow! You look amazing for being almost 40!” Me: “I know, right?” 
   
   
4. My younger sister is about to graduate from Berkeley and get married. My diploma count: Zero. Number of people lining up to marry me: One. But he's about 50 and was recently released from some sort of mental institution, so we're going to go ahead and not count him. The only thing I've got on her is the number of creepy stalkers that I've had, and in her defense, I kind of egged them all on. Attention whore, remember? Yeah, it's probably going to get me killed one day, I know. 
   
   
   So, there ya go.  
   And just so you know, I've missed a million blog-worthy moments in my absence.  But they're coming, folks, they're coming. 

"Let's Get Physical, Physical."

For those of you who have recently asked about some of my FB posts in regards to the running I've been doing, allow me to clarify:  I'm probably using the term running a little too losely.  So, what I meant to say is, I've been "running" lately.  Driveway laps, to be specific.  Why driveway laps, you ask?  There are a couple of really good reasons.

1)  I'm terrfied of dogs, and some a-hole in the neighborhood walks his doberman without a leash.  And I don't want any part of that situation.

2)  Since I smoke, and have been grossly out of shape for the past 3 years, it's not out of the question that I could have a heart attack.  If that happens, I'd like to be really close to my cell phone.  Can you text 911 these days?  If not, I'm going to need a back-up plan.  Maybe one of those neck things with the emergency button that old people wear. 

3) People in Kent can't drive for crap.  A lady in an SUV literally came about six inches from running me over a few weeks ago (and I was in a cross walk with the "walk" signal!), and I narrowly avoid accidents at least once a week.  Usually because some college kid on on a cell phone or going 60 in a 35.  Or both.  So I'm not going to take any chances running in the street.

4) I won't use a trail.  See reasons 1 and 2.

The neighbors probably think I'm mildly retarded, but I'm okay with that.  "There's that neighbor girl running laps around her house and driveway again.  Do you think she's slow, Fred?"  The good news is that they smile real big and wave when they see me now.  If I play along, maybe I can get a popcicle or something out of the deal.  If there's anything I've learned about social interations, it's that people love to give sugary treats to mentally handicapped adults.  I don't really understand it, but I don't make the rules.  I just observe.

So there you have it, people.  Driveway laps.  But don't judge. . . I've lost almost 15 pounds in the last 2.5 months, so runninng is running is running is running.  My version is just a little more embarrassing. 

"Waiting for the End of the World"

Not at all surprisingly, the rapture has apparently been postponed.  5:59 pm on the twenty-first of May, two-thousand and eleven came and went as it does every other day.  My only regret is that I failed to capitalize on all this doomsday nonsense.  I read an article today about a post-rapture pet spa, where a team of friendly atheists promised to care for your pets after you made your ascent to Heaven.  Genius!  Although, does this mean that pets don't go to Heaven?  If so, A) Disney is a big, fat liar.  And B) I don't know that I can buy into a religion that thinks humans are the only life form that are allowed entrance into the pearly gates.  It just seems unfair, and a little bit elitist (religious extremists being unfair and elitist?! No way. . .).  However, if this means that mountain lions will be stuck burning in a lake of fire, I think the Christians should really consider using that as a selling point.  If you put that on a billboard, then I'm buying whatever you're selling.

But back to the rapture.  Or lack thereof.  If you're Harold Camping, how do you explain being wrong about this?  And not only once, but twice!  My guess is that after his 1994 prediction failed to materialize, he picked a date far enough in the future by which he assumed he'd be dead already, thus not having to deal with an explanation. Epic fail, Mr. Camping.  I've got to hand it to you, though.   I didn't know if anyone could top the Scientologists in the idiocy department, but you totally win.

The good news:  The rapture didn't fail to happen, it's just been postponed until October 21st. So if you missed your chance to throw a judgment day party or profit on the 6 people left who still believe this garbage, then you get a second shot. 

End of the World, part 2.

The more I think about it, the more likely it seems that the world just might be ending tomorrow.  Let's look at the facts: 

1) The Indians have the best record in Major League Baseball.  Not only do they have the best record, but the also have the best run differential. 

2) The Cavs have the 1st and 4th draft pick this year. (P.S. Take Williams instead of Irving!!!  You know, if the world is still here and all. . .)

3) The Browns truly have the potential to be a playoff team next season. 

3) The sun is actually shining over Cleveland today.  This only happens about three times a century.

So of course the world would choose to end in a season that sees a Cleveland team with the potential to win something.  If this is the case, me and the big guy up there are going to have some words.  Assuming, of course, that not only does heaven exist, but that my kind is allowed entrance.  Which is unlikely, at best. 

The good news about this impending rapture is that I can probably guilt people in to celebrating my birthday tonight, just in case we're not here next week.  And since I think we all know that the world will most definitely still be here tomorrow, I'll get to celebrate twice.  (Thank you  Harold Camping, you crazy old bastard.)

So go out and enjoy this beautiful Friday evening, kids.  Blow all your money and party like it's 1999.  And if we're not here tomorrow, I'll catch ya on the other side. 

Nikki out.

Happy Birthday to. . . not me.

You know how a lot of companies will send you e-coupons during the month of your birthday?  Well, I just got something from flowers.com telling me not to miss the "birthday sale."  So I'm thinking, "Yeah.  Like I'm going to order flowers for myself for my birthday.  What a stupid coupon."  Not that I haven't ordered flowers for myself before; I have.  I was so nerdy in school that I used to send myself the little valentines suckers and flowers that you could order in the cafeteria to be delivered to home room the next day. . . Because I knew I wouldn't be getting them from anyone else.  Although oddly enough,  a few people came out of the woodwork way after high school to tell me that they used to have a crush on me, but couldn't tell me because they didn't want to get made fun of.  (Way to blow your second shot, by the way.)   See, if all of these people just would have spoken up in school, I may have actually had a shot at being cool. 

Anyway, back to the coupon.  Turns out the birthday sale was to celebrate the birth of flowers.com, not me.  This is how self-centered I am.  I just assume there is a sale for my  birthday.  And even though I wasn't going to order them in the first place, now I feel like a have a valid reason not to.  How dare they try to overshadow my birthday, AND make me look like a self-centered moron in the process (See "Shiny, Happy People Part 2" to get a better perspective of the irony here).   Should I ever need to order flowers in the future, it will most definitely not be from flowers.com. 

. . .And that's how the internet ruined my birthday.


Side note:  My birthday is not actually until May 29th, and thankfully, I've managed to work past this flower incident enough that I feel like I may still have a shot at enjoying it.  And please -- I know you all want to send flowers, but I ask that you kindly refrain from doing so as this has been a difficult process for me.


Side note part 2:  I lied.  I really want flowers.  I don't particularly like them, but since my birthday is going to be me hanging out with my sister's friends, I want people to notice me and wish they had as many flower-sending admirers as I do.

I just called to hear your voice. . . mail.

I might be the worst voice mail message leaver ever.  Seriously, it's really bad.  So bad, in fact, that I rarely ever leave messages.  On the rare occasion that I do, it's usually just a two minute long disaster.  I try to keep it to a simple, "Hey, it's Nik.  Call me back!"  But right after I say that, I think, well they know I called.  If I'm leaving a voice mail it should be more important then notifying them that I called.  I mean, they can clearly see that in their call log.  So then I freeze and feel like I need to say something a little more important.  "Hey, it's Nik.  Call me back! . . .  Oh my god, the craziest thing happened to me today!"

As the words are coming out of my mouth, I realize that I have no follow up.  Did something crazy happen to me today?  Probably.  I tend to be a magnet for absolute insanity.  But still, I clearly did not think this message through.  So I pause again.  Then, instead of just hanging up like a sane person, now I feel like I actually have to tell a story on the voice mail.   So I'll start to recount the tale of whatever absurdity I encountered most recently.  About 30 second into it, I realize just how very much I suck at telling stories.  I tend to trail off or lose my train of thought, which, I can tell you, is even worse to listen to on voice mail then it is in person.  

The message almost always ends with me apologizing and and muttering, "Oh my god. . . worst message EVER.  Well hey, it's Nik.  Call me back!"  Full circle.  One hundred and twenty seconds of your life that I just carelessly threw away, as though they were a used condom, or an Eagles record. 

So. . . If you ever get a voice mail message from me, just go ahead and delete it.  If it's important, I'll just text you.

You've been warned.

In an effort to increase my number of followers, I'm going to close it off to the public so that only people who "follow" it publicly can view it.

Ok, it's a hollow threat, and we all know I'm not going to do it.  But still.  If you like my blog, will you consider following?  It takes about 30 seconds to do, and you don't receive any spam or emails.  In fact, it doesn't even notify you through email when its been updated, so nothing will clog your inbox. You don't even have to have a blogger account, just an email address.  Remember, this is not the "subscribe" button, but the "follow" button.  I think subscribing actually does send you emails.  Actually, it just occurred to me that I've been yelling at people who said they subscribed, and I thought they were lying.  They DID subscribe!  What I meant to ask them was to "follow."  Oops. 

And feel free to share my blog's link on FB or Twitter!  

Thanks!

~Nik

The end is near!

Things I'm thinking about right now:

 I do not want to turn thirty twenty-six in two weeks.  And the good news is, I may not have to.  According to the very large billboard on 76 West, the world will be ending on May 21st of this year.  So, yay for that.  But here's what I don't understand about these doomsdayers:  What do they say when the world does not end?  How do you retract that statement on the 22nd without looking like a complete dumbass?  I mean, you took out a billboard, for god's sake!  We all know you said it. 

Although if I had to pick one of the doomsday groups to align myself with, I'd go with this one.  Mostly because I'm not a fan of bandwagons, and if everyone else is saying 2012, then I'm going with 2011.  Also, the aforementioned never having to turn 30 would be a bonus.  Weird side note:  My mom took a picture of me on my birthday last year which she titled, Forever 29.  Maybe subconsciously, she was in the know about this May 21, 2011 thing, and she picked that title because she knew the world wouldn't be here when I was 30.   I don't actually believe that the world is ending next week, but this is seriously how my brain works.  These are the kinds of weirdo thoughts that I have on an hourly basis.  Which can only mean one of two things:

1) Time for a new brain.  or 2) I clearly do not have enough important things on which to focus my thoughts.

I'm going with the former on this one. . .



 

You know "ye" are a douchebag when. . .

I always pride myself on the fact that I don't discriminate against any particular group of people.  There are a million and six good reasons to actually dislike people, but blindly judging them is just never okay.  Unless. . .

. . . I was reminded today of the ONE group of people against which I discriminate. Loudly, openly, and often.  Renaissance Faire performers.  I have so many issues with these people that I don't even know where to begin.  For starters, this is not the 15th century; "Fair" doesn't have a fucking "e" on the end of it.  Secondly, there are many, many great works of literature that I absolutely will not read simply because I can't stand all the "ye"s and "methink"s.  If I can't even tolerate it long enough to read Shakespeare, then I sure as hell am not okay with a 35 year-old man in a centaur costume doing it. 

These things aside, the best reason I can think of to discriminate against these people is that they are just flat out annoying.  Even in real life.  Back in college I used to waitress 3rd shift, and these Renaissance Faire freaks would come in ALL THE DAMN TIME.  They were nice enough, but they wouldn't drop the 15th century speak. . . It was almost like they were rebelling against thie modern world.  As though an era where daily bathing is a good idea and being an annoying douchebag is frowned upon was just sucking the life out of them.

So if your favorite past times include wood whittling, sword fighting, and and dressing as the king of something, then ye just might at the top of my "good lord, how to you make it through a day without someone kidney-punching you" list.  That is all. . .

What the?

Okay, for some reason, this site isn't working properly.  My last two posts disappeared (luckily, I found them in Google Reader and copied and pasted), and it won't let me use a lot of the features. 

Is anyone else having this issue with Blogger?

Shiny, Happy People Part 2.

. . . And immediately on the tails of that happy note, a sad and embarrassing one.

So, I spent nearly an hour on the phone with my dad tonight rambling excitedly about my birthday, my birthday plans, and all the things I want for my birthday.  Which would normally be fine, except for that just now (and 3 hours later), it dawned on me that today is HIS birthday.

I am such a douchebag.

Luckily, he lives in Hing Kong, so I could call back to remedy the situation as it is still afternoon there.

Oops. 

(In my defense, his birthday is the 12th, and today was actually the 11th here in the States.  But I forgot I was talking to him on the afternoon of the 12th, Hong Kong time.  Although in all honesty, I had no clue what the date was until I looked at my phone a few minutes ago.  So I really have no excuse other than that I am a gigantic asshole, no matter how unintentional it may be.)

Shiny, Happy People Holding Hands...

It has been brought to my attention that some of you think my blog is a little too negative.  Let me start by saying that yes, the world is full of many lovely things. . .  But for the most part, those lovely things translate into really boring stories.  Nevertheless, I've decided to dedicate an entire blog to things that make me happy.  So here we go. . .

Things that make me happy:

1) Walking into a gas station, needing a lighter, and realizing that, YES, they do in fact have Motley Crue lighters for sale!  (Sorry, Crue fans, can't figure out how to do the umlauts on here)

2) The fact that there are enough people in Pennsylvania who believe that pterodactyls still exist to actually form a club (and write a book about it!)  No kidding.  Look it up.  It's hilarious.

3) Finding a picture of my dad in a cowboy hat.  HAHAHA!!!  If only it weren't so blurry. (P.S. Someday, this will come back to haunt you, dad.  And you can count it being in the very, very near future.)  Lesson learned:  Don't let your wife post pictures of you at a theme party if you have relations on the Lepora side of the family.  It will not end well for you.  : )

4)  In my weekly newsletter from that mountain lion-saving group, it mentioned that Wyoming and Oregon were unable to pass laws against hunting the lions. Of course, I think this was supposed to be sad news. But regardless,  Nikki: 2, People-Eaters, 0.  Good for you, Oregon and Wyoming.

5) Realizing that I live only 30 minutes from a restaurant whose entire menu is a million different kinds of grilled cheese sandwiches.  And to boot, the menus are on the back of vinyl album covers.  How cool is that?!  If there's a heaven, it's not out of the question that it could be located somewhere in the Melt's kitchen. 

So there you have it, people.  5 things that make me happy.  Take it all in, kids, because I'm not going to be making a habit of this.  Oh, and have a nice day.  : )

I'm Melt-ing!!!! I'm Melt-ing!!!

As I was tracking my page views today, I noticed something bizarre:  I have more page views from people using Linux than I do from people using Macintosh.  What the hell?  Who uses Linux?!?  Apparently, 26 of you do.  And who the hell are these people?  I'm getting more and more hits every day, but still only six (ok, four) followers.

Well, I would love to leave you all with more than that, but unfortunately for you, I'm Melt-ing today.  If you don't know what that means, then I just feel sorry for you. 

Misanthropy

"In my life, why do I smile at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye?"  ~Morrissey

As time progresses, I become increasingly less tolerant toward mankind in general.  Seriously.  I think it's becoming a problem.  During the course of a normal day, I have at least 5 interactions where I just want to ask the person's parents if they wish there was a way to undo a birth.  Ironically, it makes me feel even worse when I start comparing myself.  If these people have somehow managed to make it through 20, 30, 50 years of life in a decent spot, I should be the ruler of a small country or something.  However, despite the rumors that you may have heard (and I may have started), I am not. 

At this point, I pretty much only have patience for children, the elderly, and coma victims.  And to be honest, old people kind of creep me out, so I may as well scratch them off the short list of people I can be around without wanting to bash my head into a wall.  As a matter of fact, I'm on the border taking myself off the damn list.  Initially, I thought cloning myself a hundred times would be a solution to my people-hate problem, but the more I thought about it, the more terrible the idea seemed. For starters, I don't know how to clone people.  Secondly,  I'm actually fairly certain that I would violently attack myself after about 2 hours.  It takes a specific kind of person to tolerate me, and I don't think I qualify for the job. 

So my new plan is start my own religion cult.  I can think of a million reasons as to why this is a great idea.

1)  You can make a ton of money off people whose personalities doom them to be blind followers.  I mean, look at that Scientology guy.  If people can be convinced that aliens are god, and that they have to pay to discover this "truth," then they can be talked into just about anything.  And I'm sure I can come up with something better than that.  Aliens? Really???

2) I don't mind people so much when they do what I tell them to.  If I'm the leader of this cult, they really have no choice but to listen to me, right?

3) I am a natural-born leader.  Unfortunately, I'm having a hard time harnessing this skill and molding it into anything useful or lucrative.  I don't like managing because employees generally suck and don't listen, and I just have no patience for that.  But people in cults. . .  These are people who want nothing more than to be lead.  To not think or act for themselves.  This is a group of people that I feel I can definitely work with.

4)  One of my favorite past times is being the absolute center of attention.  I've never actually been worshipped, but I have a feeling that it'd be right up my alley.

5) I really have nothing better to do at the moment.


So there ya go, kids.  If you dislike people, and don't have much in the way of real-world skills, starting a cult might be the way to go for you.

CLE Sports

It's amazing how many phone conversations I have to start with, "I promise this is the last time I'll call."  Not because I'm a creepy stalker, but because I always forget something important.  And by important, I mean not very important at all.  Tonight, I called my sister about a million times in a row, the last of which was because I forget to tell her that the Coliseum (where the A's play) had about 9 people in attendance.  I was tempted to call about 35 seconds after that to ask if it was still called McAfee Coliseum, but since she has finals this week, I decided that it was best to just look it up on the good ol' interweb.  It is not, by the way.  The stadium is now called Overstock.com Coliseum.  Apparently, no one wants their name affiliated with the A's, so the name changes about as often as the weather in Ohio. 

:::Crappy segue:::

Speaking of sports, I'm so sick of all these national sportscasters bashing on the 216 (that's Cleveland's area code for all of you who might be lucky enough to not know that).  Seriously.  And it's not just baseball, it's all of our sports.  It's always, "Wow!  The opponent sure had a terrible game tonight!" or "And Cleveland keeps its lucky steak alive by somehow managing another win!"  Even when the Cavs had LeBron, Charles Barkley was always spewing crap about how "turrible" we were, or how we weren't ever going to win the Finals.  Granted, he was right, but still.  I can't wait until we win something so everyone will shut the hell up.  Or not.  Oh god, I can already see the headlines:  "Entire MLB gives up; paves way for Cleveland to win World Series." 

Oh well.  All I can do is pray that I'm lucky enough to still be alive on the day that a Cleveland sports team finally wins it all.  And hopefully, it won't be the Indians.  Not that I hate baseball, but I'd be lying if I said a little piece of me wouldn't die if the Indians end our drought before the Cavaliers or Browns. 

More on Mountain Lions

First of all, let me tell you that I've decided to capitalize Mountain Lions from now on, just to emphasize their importance in my everyday life.  Much like God (who also capitalizes His name), They are an almighty force. . . one which should be feared and respected.  But mostly just feared.  So on to my story:

Strange things have been happening lately. It all started with some spam I received from a wildlife foundation asking me to donate to “save the big cats.” I, of course, found this hilarious and posted something on Facebook to the tune of, “Clearly these people do not know me.”

...And that's when the second round of emails came flooding in. Daily newsletters on protecting the mountain lions of North America, people thanking me for my passion in regards to preserving nature. What. The. Hell. ???

Earlier this week, it all made sense. I received a rather large envelope from savetheworld.org or whatever the hell this foundation is, and I open it to find that a donation had been made in my name to help protect Mountain Lions. In fact, I got a picture of my very own cougar. The one which I have, apparently, sponsored. He lives in Florida and, since “I” (aka: Jude and Chrissie) paid to help protect him, I've decided to name him Godsmistake. One word. Because that's what all cats are.

So, thanks to my asshole sister and her fiance, somewhere out there, a mountain lion is a little bit safer because of me. God damn it. 

Now, I know I promised you all a picture explaining the whole Top of the Food Chain thing, and here it is:

Once upon a time, someone called me an asshole nature-hater for my views on Mountain Lion hunting.  I am a firm believer in hunting these vicious creatures into extinction.  Or, as an alternative, moving them all to Canada.  And my explanation was simple: TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN.  Lion eats man.  Period.  And of course, I got some hippy response about us encroaching on their territory and blab blah blah.  So to try and edge myself back into the good graces of these animal lovers, I explained that it has nothing to do with animals in general, just the dangerous ones. So I asked, if they velociraptors were still roaming around, would you not be all for getting rid of them?  Because fuck running into a velociraptor.  You just have no chance. Anyway, none of it went over well, and suffice it to say that I offended more than one person.  Which, you know, I'm pretty much used to at this point.

So. . . As you can clearly see in my diagram, velociraptors and Mountain Lions are a threat to man.  You can tell because there are half-eaten humans right next to both of them.  And if that's not a logically sound argument, then I don't know what is.  

Good night.  And if you live in the hills of California, good luck. 

Best (Wo-) Man...

As my sister's maid of honor, I've done pretty much nothing she's asked me to do thus far.  Not because I don't care, but because I feel like I should have a more exciting job than finding out my cousin's street address (Sharon, if you're reading this, please text Chris your address!).  So today, I was offered an opportunity to redeem myself: Designing the "Save the Date" cards.  Finally!  A task worthy of my time and talents!

After many many minutes of hard work, I was promptly fired when my sister received, what I think is, a genius design. See Below.

I would definitely use this card if I were the one getting married,  Except I would be taller, holding a beer, and wearing a Browns shirt.  Because, clearly, I'm much classier than my sister.  Also, I refuse to get all sappy and serious when it comes to weddings.  First of all, it is not your "one special day."  In all likelihood, you will have one or two more "special days" in your lifetime, so don't sweat it if you fuck the first one up a little bit.  Look at it as a rehearsal for wedding number 2. Or 3. Or, if you're Larry King, 9.  Secondly, I really like this card.  For as crude of a drawing as this may be, it actually looks like my sister.  Now that's talent. 

So, after being cruelly fired from this task, I've decided to beat my sister to the printer and send out version 2.howdareyoufireme of my "Save the Date" card. 

And for this, I don't mind finding the addresses of pretty much anyone she's ever known.
Side note: There were a few alternate versions of this card, my favorite of which is one where Chrissie looks like a tiny baby, and a fanged Jude is mauling her, but my drawing skills leave too much to be desired, and I feared that no one would know what it was. Also, I didn't think it was appropriate for a wedding.

(P.S. Love you, Chrissie!!!)

Random babble

Things on my mind right now:

1) My blog has six followers. Two of them are me. That's right... I created two separate blogger accounts so that I could up my followers.  How sad has my life become?  It's probably bad enough that I even "followed" myself once...

2) That being said, my blog has 189 hits this week.  Since I don't track my own viewings, it begs the question: Who is reading this?  Do I have one really awesome stalker, or are most of you too embarrassed to admit publicly that you read this garbage?

3) I might hate Bengals fans these days more than I hate Steelers fans.  For starters, they are sucky, sucky fair weather fans.  The only Browns game I missed this year was the Browns at Bengals game and that's because I was in Cincinnati and the game was blacked out.  And none of my friends (who claim to love their Bengals so much) would go with me.  Also,  Who Dey? Really? Not only did you rip off another team, but you ripped off one of the lamest sports chants ever. It's like copying off the kid who's eating paste. Not that I would expect much from a city that borders Kentucky...*
(*Side note: I actually love the city of Cincinnati. Very, very much. Bengals "fans" just irritate me. But in all fairness, at least they don't bark like we do for our Brownies. Because that's just weird.)

4) After my 15 year love affair with the ellipsis points, it has been pointed out to me that I type it incorrectly.  It is not ...   Its . . .    But I'm far too lazy to type the spaces between the dots.  Also, I know I overuse them. But here's my argument:  The ellipses can be used when it's an unfinished thought, or kind of trailing off into nowhere, and I do that all the time when I speak, so. . .

5) Since we're so technologically advanced, why don't we have a cool Jetson's-type machine that we can walk into and change our eye color?  I really want green eyes for a few days and I can't wear contacts because touching your eyeball is gross.

6) If you've somehow managed to read this whole post, then it should be obvious by now that I'm incredibly sleep deprived. Which brings us to number 6.  Why can't I sleep???? I've watched two movies, and taken 2 allergy/sleeping pills.  Still nothing. I'm going to hate myself tomorrow. . .

Al Gore hates me.

If the weather doesn't warm up soon, I'm going to start investing in cans of aerosol hairspray and driving around for hours wasting gas.  Seriously, Cleveland... You're starting to make me reconsider my stance on global warming. Icecaps be damned, I just want more than three months out of the year where I don't have to wear a coat.

Before you all start yelling at me for being an asshole, I'm not serious.  Not entirely, anyway. I know there are simpler solutions than destroying the environment.  For instance, moving to a place that isn't a frozen, gray, dream graveyard.  But I'm lazy, and it's much easier to fantasize about destroying the ozone layer for the sake of Cleveland than it is to actually move. So there ya go.

Things I Love About Cleveland

Ok, a few of these things are a little outdated now, as I started writing this a few months ago and just finished it now. But whatever.  So, without further ado...

Things I Love about Cleveland

In an effort to try and minimize the soul-sucking despair I feel every time I look out my window and realize that, yes, this is home, I've compiled a list of the things that don't totally suck about Cleveland, Ohio.

So let's just jump right into numero uno: There are no mountain lions here. Seems like I'm reaching, huh? In fact, this is one of the best reasons I can think of to move to North Eastern Ohio – provided, of course, that you don't already live in a nicer, mountain lion-less part of our fair country. So basically, this just includes the deep South and Michigan. But back to my point... Mountain lions. They will eat the fuck out of you. I understand that human fatalities as a result of cougar attacks are insanely low, but still. Why take the chance? My sister, who lives in Berkeley, CA, used to make fun of me all the time. I had no problem roaming around East Oakland, but if we were anywhere near the hills, I didn't get out of the car. Here's my logic, flawed as it may be: There's always a chance that you can reason with a crackhead. But there's no reasoning with a hungry lion.  That's just the way it is.

Which brings us to reason number 2 that Cleveland doesn't totally suck: Lack of sunshine. Now, you may be thinking, wait a minute! This is not a positive! And you're right – it's not. But take me, for example. Not only am I allergic to the sun, but my eyes are extremely sensitive to the light. This means less money spent on sunglasses and umbrellas. So I'm saving at least $50 a year. Of course, once you factor in the lack of jobs, and the low wages, then this is not really a positive at all. But I'm trying here...

Reason #3: It's not Detroit. Simply and unarguably a valid point. I don't think anything else needs to be said here. (In my defense, I'd made this argument way before the brilliant “Hastily made Cleveland tourism video” came out. Ask any Clevelander... “At least we're not Detroit” has been our only retort to “Cleveland sucks” for... well, forever.

Reason #4: Since our Browns, Indians, and Cavaliers have collectively not won a damn thing in over half a century, our tickets to sporting events are more affordable than anywhere outside of Baghdad. For a mere $75, you rock it courtside like Jay-Z. Of course, the rate of broken TVs, burst blood vessels, and sports-related depression are among the highest in the country. But no worries – we have groups for that. They meet regularly at the local sports bars, and can be found drunkenly muttering something about “next year...” But once again, here's where you can factor in that "At least we're not Detroit" logic.  It could be worse, guys. We could be Lions fans. How much would that suck?  Interesting side note:  My cousin's husband is a Lions fan from NE Ohio, and I will never, ever understand it.  I can understand growing up realizing that the Browns suck, and walking away from that heartache at an early age.  BUT... the Lions? You pick the only team worse than the Browns to root for? There are like, 30 other teams you could have picked that will definitely do better than the Browns on any given year, but you pick the only franchise that is legitimately never, ever good. It boggles the mind. Maybe he just likes the way he looks in baby blue. It's the only explanation that makes sense to me.

Reason #5: In a recent story entitled “The United States of Shame,” Ohio actually received one of the least offensive titles: Nerdiest. This was based on the fact Ohio has the highest number of library book check outs per person. Of course, this could be for a plethora of reason other than the idea that we just like to learn. In fact, I suspect that this has more to do with that fact that people here can't afford to buy books than it does with our nerdiness. But even if that translates to “poorest,” I'll take it considering some of the other titles were Highest Rate of Women Brutally Murdered, Arson Deaths and Most Beastiality offences. Poorest? SOLD!

Reason #6: Speaking of sports... We may have some of the worst sports teams in recent history (as I write this, the Cavs are in the middle of a record-breaking 25 losses in a row), but that doesn't stop our fans. The dawg pound still shows up every Sunday, despite the sub-zero temperatures and presumably losing record. Our Indians fans still pour into Progressive Parkway, and our Cavaliers fans want it even more since our local homewrecker traded our loyalty for a romp in the sand with Beach Skank Barbie. That's right Heat fans. I just compared your team to women of loose morals.  Can't wait to see you guys lose to the Celtics! (Side note: Since the ill-advised Perkins trade, I'm not so sure the Celtics are going to the Finals anymore.  What the hell where they thinking??  Somebody better step up and beat Miami, and I'm not confidant that Chicago is experienced enough to do it.)

Reason number 7: Sweetest Day! For those of you who live outside Ohio, Indiana, and Western Pennsylvania, Sweetest Day is pretty much just Valentine's Day's retarded half-birthday. And, as you've probably guessed, it started in Cleveland. As though one Valentine's Day isn't bad enough, every third Saturday in October, people celebrate the whole thing all over again. The good news is that if you aren't single and you somehow managed to fuck up Valentine's Day for your significant other, you can always make up for it in October.

Reason number 8: We've got a great music scene. No, really. I don't even have anything snarky to say here. The Pretenders, the Black Keys, Nine Inch Nails, the Raspberries, Dave Grohl, half of Warrant, Maynard from Tool, etc. All from NE Ohio. Apparently, shitty weather and lack of industry breed some pretty stellar music.  As Ian Hunter said, "Cleveland Rocks!"  Yes sir, it does.  Though if you really listen to the lyrics of that song, it's just blatant Clevelander-bashing.  But that's why I've made it a point to only memorize the chorus.

Reason number 9: Unfortunately, this black pit of despair is home.  Damn you, Cleveland. For all of your flaws, I love you still. And while I may bitch and whine about this place all the time, I'm the first person to proudly say, "I'm from Cleveland!" when I'm far away from home. Mistake on the lake? Oh no you didn't...

"Such a perfect day..."

In a cruel act of god, the North East Ohio area was given a gorgeous, sunny, 85 degree day.  My instant thought was, is this a sick joke?  Yes, Cleveland, it was. Tuesday's forecast: High of 46, low of 37.  In fact, there's not another nice day in sight.  Or at least, not as far as our ten day forecast can see.

So it got me thinking... Way back in the days of the early settlers, whose dumbass idea was it to settle in Cleveland?  Did someone lose a bet? Or was it just the tired, sick and lame who stayed behind here, only because they were unable to travel any farther west?  That has to be it. Also, it would explain a lot if we're looking at gene pools.  "From whence they came!!"  Yep.  I get it now.
 
Get me the hell outta here.

Coming soon:  Things I love about Cleveland (but not really)

Smile! Jesus loves you...

So, while I was out today, the kindly folk down at Charity Baptist Church left a copy of the ten commandments (Ten Commandments? Should that be capitalized? Probably. If there's anything I learned in church, it's that God loves proper nouns) on my doorstep.

Here's where I'm confused:  It says that the second commandment is, "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image."  Now, I've got a pretty good memory, and I even did a brief stint in Catholic school, but I swear to not God (because somehow, it just feels wrong right now) that I have never heard this commandment.  What does it even mean???

Damn it.  If I only I hadn't missed them. First of all, I would have my commandment question answered. Secondly, I like talking to those door-to-door Christians.  I feel that, due to my sales background, I can relate to these people. Mortgages, frozen food, Christianity... It's all the same basic concept when you're trying to hook someone.  So to take my daily frustrations from my sales job out on them, I like to play the asshole potential customer game.  I'll ask questions like, "So, what can you offer me that Order of the Sacred Poptarts cannot?"  Or, "Do you ever worry that maybe the Scientologists are right?  Because how much would that suck?" "Why don't you guys believe in dinosaurs? That's just silly,"

And that's when I try to flip it and sell them science.   Not because I don't believe in a higher power, but because I just generally don't take being told that I'm wrong very well.  At this point, they usually give up and hand me the second flier.  The, we-give-up-because-you're-clearly-going-to-Hell-and-there's-nothing-we-can-do-about-it flier. Which just isn't very nice at all. 

March Madness brings...

April completefuckingdisaster-ness? I was going to say April sadness, because it actually rhymes, but I decided that this whole thing calls for some good ol' fashioned swearing. Good lord...

I would rather have my eyes eaten out by piranhas than have to ever watch that game again. Seriously. WORST. NCAA. CHAMPIONSHIP. GAME. EVER. And this is coming from a person who firmly believes that caps lock is pretty much the most douchy thing you can do with a keyboard.  THAT'S HOW MUCH I HATED IT.

I think even the Huskies themselves hated it.  Did you see their reactions to the win?  They almost looked embarrassed.  It's like when you know you're getting that promotion because none of the qualified people wanted it.  Or you're because sleeping with your boss...   You just want to get out of there with the prize as quickly as possible before the whispering begins. 

I personally think that Butler and UConn should have to come out and formally apologize to Kentucky, Arizona, Ohio State, and every single person who had the misfortune of tuning into CBS tonight.  Hell, after that performance, I'm thinking that Akron might even deserve and apology.

Eggs!

Sometimes I like to text people who are in the room while they're on the phone with someone else I know.  Partly out of sheer boredom, and partly because I am an attention whore and I hate feeling unnoticed.

This usually only happens when my mom and sister are on the phone.  I'll usually text something fairly witty in hopes that the textee will feel like he or she is somehow missing out by choosing to talk to caller instead of me.  It almost never works.  So then I resort to pitting the callers against each other.  For example:  "What could you guys possibly be talking about for this long? Oh, hey... Did you know I overheard mom talking to someone about what a pain in the ass you are?  I know, I thought it was harsh, too."  This approach doesn't tend to work, either. 

So in a final act of deperation, I try either insulting the caller, or texting some absurd cluster of words, hoping to pique his or her interest.  Tonight, my sister beat me at my own game.  The only response I got was, "eggs!"  Yep,  Eggs. With an exclamation point, even. (!!!)

I'm quitting this family.

Welcome to my blog. You'll like it here...

...Or maybe you won't.

You may be (but are probably not) asking yourself, why is Nikki starting a blog?  For starters, I'm pretty much the most awesome person I know, and I figured that you might like to know me, too.  Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, I'm really bored. All of the time. And since I usually have no one to talk to, I figured this is a good way to make it seem like someone is listening.

I'm going to go ahead and do a quick Q&A with myself to clear up any other questions you may have in regard to my blog.

Q:  Why is your blog called Top of the Food Chain?
A: Well, it all goes back to mountain lions (and maybe dinosaurs).  And as soon as I can figure out how to use this blog, I'll have a nice diagram for you guys that I think will do this question more justice than anything I can type.

Q: Why is your web address www.mountainlionswilleatyou.blogspot?
A: Because some other asshole already took topofthefoodchain.blogspot. Oh, and also because it's true. Mountain lions WILL eat you. They will eat the shit out of you.  Don't worry, I'll touch more on this subject later.  And often. 

Q: Are you really the most awesome person you know?
A: It's not likely. I mean, I started a blog because I have no one to talk to.  You do the math. Also, in my head, Bill Simmons and I are best friends... Which would mean that I am definitely not the coolest person I know.

Ok.  Well, that seems like as good as spot as any to stop. Goodnight, zero readers.