Friday, June 1, 2018

Uhhhh...

Okay, so bear with me, I think my house is at least a little bit haunted. When I was a toddler my mother put me in my crib to take a nap while she did some housework, and in the middle of her cleaning she heard me baby babbling to a corner across from me, attempting to talk to someone/something. This happened several times before she realized what was going on. She assumed that I was "talking" to one of my relatives that passed away long before I was born. I had distinct names that I used for all of my grandparents at the time, but I was not calling this entity any of them. I kept saying "Paw, mamma, Paw." I never called any of my grandparents Paw, but she did. That is what she called her grandfather, who died before my parents were even married. My mother felt uneasy about the situation, but she took me to the corner that I was talking to and began to talk to it herself. She began to the the entity that I was his great-granddaughter, that she wished that he could've lived long enough to see me born, to see her get married. She told the energy that she missed him deeply, and told me that there was nothing to worry about; she told me that the "Paw" that I was talking to wouldn't hurt me, and that he would be my Guardian Angel and make sure nothing bad happened to me.
On the other hand, though, it was late at night right after my little sister was born and my father was working late at the local carpet manufacturing plant a few miles away, so it was just me, my mother, and my infant sister in the house. My mother was putting my little sister in her crib, and just got finished making sure I got to bed safely when she heard a low, guttural growl and scratching coming from the front of the house. (We didn't have any animals at the time, so we really have no explanation for this occurrence.) She went into my room to make sure I wasn't pulling her leg, but my four-year-old self was already fast asleep. She went to investigate the noise, but there was nothing in the living room, the kitchen, or any of the adjacent rooms. She went to the porch to make sure there was no wild animal out front getting into the trash bins, and there was nothing to be seen (even with the flood lights on). When she returned inside, she heard something else. She heard a deep, slow laugh coming from the end of hallway, near my room and next to her room where my baby sister slept in her crib at the time. She rushed to the source, but was again met with nothing. She raced to check on my sister and I, woke me up from my slumber and told me to sleep with her in her room until my father came home the following morning. She heard nothing else of that nature, except for thumping noises all around the house.
Now, I am twenty-two, and I get weird feelings all around this old house. I'm no longer in the back room I lived in as a child (that belongs to my sister), instead I am at the beginning of the hallway across from the bathroom and adjacent to the living room. In said hallway, there is a small, old cabinet that is the current place of my grandmother's ashes. In the living room is an old rocking char that belonged to my great grandmother, and resided in her room before she passed away. Along with these relics, as I would call them, my parents recently finished renovating this old house, and making it more modern (something my grandmother kind-of opposed on several occasions). We also now have a puppy that is highly protective of us, and likes to bark at signs of danger.
Given these premises, the other night my puppy woke me up chasing something around the house. "But Briana, it's a puppy, they like to do that kind of thing." Well, dear reader, this behaviour was severely out of character for her. When it is bedtime, she is usually found burrowing underneath my blankets and curled up in the bend of my knees, so her running up and down the hallway and barking at two distinct areas of the house was unsettling for me. If you were wondering what those areas were reader, they were none other than the hallway cabinet and the rocking chair in the living room. Now call me superstitious or a kook, but I sincerely believe that animals can sense that kind of thing, and my puppy had never met my grandmother or great grandmother (they both passed in 2014, and we adopted Belle in 2017). I could understand why she would be freaking out at these areas, she perceived them as a threat and wanted to warn us--even though I know they wouldn't be if my relatives did cross over to check up on us. I was frozen in my bed during this encounter due to the fact that I heard where Belle's barks were coming from, and I had been getting strange feelings from the rocking chair recently so I didn't investigate. At all. Belle's barking went on for about ten minutes before she returned to bed and went to sleep.
Call me crazy, yeah, but my house is old and full of older family heirlooms and relics; I've seen too much Buzzfeed Unsolved and Ghost Adventures to just dismiss this as a coincidence or random event. I just hope the next "encounter" isn't like the growling my mother experienced, or I'm living in my car. If it does, though, I'm calling Ryan and Shane.
     B       

Monday, May 28, 2018

You know what...

I have applied for numerous jobs over the course of the past week/week and a half, and you know what really grinds my gears about application processes? "Please submit your resume," and then the subsequent "please describe your employment history" YOU KNOW WHAT? That employment history that you asked for, dear application is in the same resume you asked me to submit AT THE BEGINNING OF THE APPLICATION. It really grinds my gears and I really have a problem with the redundancy that these applications present. Like? Is there any reason behind having me submit a resume and then making me describe my previous employment history? Like at all? I understand the salary questions within these previous employment history sections of applications; because that typically isn't on a resume. I just really don't understand, and it's really a waste of time to be honest.

-x-

Anyway, a little anecdote from the other day.

Well, I've had tattoos for about four years now, and I've gotten a new one almost every year since I began college. My grandmother is a very conservative woman, ya know "your body is a temple" kind of stuff and nearly freaked out when she discovered my nose ring (so she'd definitely hate my tattoos, if she discovered them). Therefore, I masterfully hid my tattoos each time I visited my grandparent's house for Sunday Lunch. For four summers I went to my grandparent's house in a long sleeve shirt (please keep in mind that it's 80-100 degrees out, and my grandparents constantly have the heat on as well as a wood stove). I hid my two smaller tattoos with ease, and had to restrain myself from rolling up my sleeves when I got the Tree of Gondor on my forearm. I eventually decided that I had had enough and this summer I've been so boldly wearing tanks and short sleeved shirts. Hell, I've received my college diploma and I figure I can wear whatever I want without the fear of my grandmother having an aneurysm.
Sunday I was visiting my grandfather at a rehab facility due to the fact that he's recovering from a triple bypass, and I've been doing so for about a month now without any comments from him. I've caught him glancing at them from time to time, but he didn't say anything to me about them. However, as I was leaving this past time, I went to hug my grandmother (she wasn't in one of her Xanax induced slumps so she was fully aware of her surroundings this time around) and she grabbed me by the left arm as I was pulling away to leave. This particular arm has the Tree of Gondor, as well as a Harry Potter themed tattoo, which is probably what drew her to grab me. She pulled my left forearm up to her face, asked me if it was real or a stick-on, and proceeded to lick her thumb and rub my tattoo as if it were a pen marking. I told her that they were all real and I thought she was going to fall over right then. She licked her thumb again and continued to rub my skin as if she could wash them off with her spit. My parents, who had already left at this point, returned to see why I was taking so long to leave and could barely contain their laughter as they saw my grandmother attempting to clean my tattoos off with her spit. My mother told her that I've had them for years now, and I bought them all with my own money (which I did), and that was the nail in the coffin as my grandmother turned my arm towards my grandfather and told him to look at what I had done to my body; to which he replied, "Yeah I saw those the other day, but I wasn't going to say nothing."
I wonder how she'll react when I get this Star Wars themed thigh piece that I've been wanting.

B          


Thursday, May 17, 2018

Almost did it...

First of all, I'm going to try this out. I've never done a formal blog before, only random "journal" entries on other websites, and occasionally Notepad. I figured since I'm a Graduate now, and now I've got to get a big girl job, I'll pair that with this sense of humour that people seem to believe that I have, and document my life experiences the best I can in writing. I'll try my best to post as often as I can, but sometimes life can get boring, and I'd rather not submit you to that kind of torture. Hopefully we can enjoy this journey together, and maybe it'll turn into something...eventually. Let me get to it though, and begin the first documentation of this semi-wild ride.

-x-
This past Sunday I was at the local Kroger gas station in the middle of the after-church rush to the grocery store (not too enticing, I understand). I casually entered the normal routine I have when I'm refilling. I park my dust-covered Kia in front of pump eight, cut the engine, get out, and head to the teller's box. Before I get there, though, a young blonde woman in a floral skirt grabs an energy drink from the cooler to the right of the teller box, and slides right in front of me. However, I didn't mind because I had nowhere to be and I wasn't in any kind of hurry. This woman, being impatient, taps on the glass of the teller box to alert the cashier to her presence. Once the lanky fellow at the register finally paid some attention to her, she slid the attendant her money, and waited for her receipt. While waiting for this receipt, however, her head was completely buried in her phone, scrolling through the endless sea that is Facebook. Oh how the tables turned on this young woman, for the humble servant before her had reciprocate the glass-tapping to alert her to the completed transaction. Her head snapped up from her phone, and her face contorted into the same reaction of a baby sucking on a freshly cut lemon. Anyway, the young woman in front of me collected her receipt and proceeded to her car to pump it full. The cashier is all smiles as I tell him "hello" and ask him how his day is going (normal small talk for a Sunday afternoon). We entertain one another in the time that it takes for my transaction to be completed, and I collect my change and begin walking back to my car. Within this car are my restless parents, hoping I would get back on the road to home here soon. I walk up to the passenger's window and hand my father the change before walking around the front of the Kia to pull the lever on the left side of the driver's seat that opens the gas tank. I pull the lever, and walk back towards the gas tank. I open the contraption and stick the gas pump inside to begin filling my car. In this time, I decided that I would clean off my dusty windows, and observe my surroundings. The black Cadillac behind me just pulled up as the man in the white truck in front of me began to pump his gas. The young woman in the floral skirt was still here for some reason, despite the fact that her tank was full by the time I got the squeegee to wipe my windows down, but she was still standing there with her head in her phone and her driver's side door open blocking traffic. I glanced at the little red car behind her and the elderly women within it as the clicking of the gas pump reminded me to take it out of the gas tank and move on for the next person. I finished wiping off the front window before I replaced the gas pump and got into the car. At this point you're probably wondering, "Well, why in the world is this woman babbling on about her time at the gas station." Well, dear reader this is where it gets a little interesting... that, and I mainly needed a place to vent about this endeavor because of the fact that I'm still a little heated over the following events. 
I return to my driver's seat, and turn to my father as I assess the situation. There is a car in front of me, a car immediately behind me, and, you guessed it, floral skirted woman is STILL standing there with her head in her phone, her driver's side door open, and her back faced towards the traffic that she was blocking. Two things had to happen for me to leave this gas station. 
1.) The back Cadillac right behind me was going to have to back up so I could steer clear of hitting the truck bed that was in front of me. 
That portion of the plan went smoothly, the driver of the Cadillac had backed up for me before I even turned on my engine, fantastic!
2.) This young woman in the floral skirt had to pay attention to something other than her likes for two minutes, and close her door so I could get out of this sardine can of a gas station. 
This portion of the plan, however, is where things get a little out of hand. 
The floral skirted woman was not paying any attention to her surroundings whatsoever. I'm dead serious when I say that the gas station could have blown up and she wouldn't have noticed. I waited a few moments to see if she would turn around, to at least check her gas that has been finished for the past five minutes now, but she didn't. I did the only thing that I could think of to snap her out of her trance. I honked at her. She jumped and looked at me with disgust, and realized that her gas was finished. Let me tell you something, these next few moments filled me with the utmost rage. 
This woman began to go finish pumping her gas.... Without. Closing. Her. Door. The one thing that needed to be done for me, and the people behind me that were finished pumping their gas at this time as well, to exit the gas station. She didn't do it. Well, dear friends, I had to make a difficult personal decision to not barrel through and sacrifice my car to prove a point. It really took everything I had to not hit the gas instead of the horn again. My father, however, could see what my brain was cooking up, and honked at this ignorant woman a second time. Now this time, she was really upset, she was upset that I interrupted her social media scrolls, and she was upset that I wasn't on her time schedule, but my own. Both my father and I began to yell at her to "close the damn door," and she slowly walked up to the door, grabbed the corner, slammed it shut, walked back to us, and made an "after you" motion with her hand as her face looked like a twisted-up orangutan, and her lips mouthed the words "After you, Princess." 
I. Cannot. Believe. 
This woman, that has treated everyone around her like they're lesser, has it in her head that, out of the two of us, I'm the entitled one here. Sorry honey, that's you. Ms. Tap on the window, head in her phone, taking eight thousand years to pump gas in your ten gallon tank, door slamming rude lady. Up until that point, I had never thought about damaging my car for the sake of a point, but I almost did it that day. I almost did it...

Bee


Uhhhh...

Okay, so bear with me, I think my house is at least a little bit haunted. When I was a toddler my mother put me in my crib to take a nap whi...