Smelliest Road Trip Ever

We were told that we’d depart and begin our journey-of-a-lifetime around 2:00 am but I was a dumbass and did not believe my mother's bold statement. I decided to finally hit the sheets around 1:45 am. Biggest mistake of my life.

As soon as I fall asleep, my long, lost sister from North Dakota jumps on my head. Not the most ideal way to be woken up, but most effective. I slowly take a peek at my clock praying, hoping it’s not what time I think it is… 2:30 am. Half an hour of sleep. This was going to be the longest road trip of my life.

For the Cochran clan, the beginning of every road trip carries the most commotion for this is when every one fights over the “prime” seats in our huge-ass 14-seater van. I came out to the van last and thereby sat in the last/worst seat available. Joy.

We actually, miraculously left the house at 3:00am and I struggled to make my seat comfortable. I ended up crouching in the fetal position and fell asleep due to complete exhaustion. I woke up two hours later, however, because of an excruciating ache in my left shin. Yvonne’s amazon-like legs had been crushing it and my shin could not withstand their weight any longer. I crouched even tighter due to agony but had difficulty falling asleep this time; for some unfortunate reason, half my siblings could not and would not stop farting. Not only were they loud, but they were deadly. I cannot even begin to describe the stench that travelled from my siblings’ asses. I am still thanking God till this day that my seat was by the window and that I was able to open it when need be, which was like every twenty minutes. I believe that window was the only way I survived those twenty hours.

To my prediction, we stopped at least every two hours for potty breaks because Kevin Jr.’s bladder is the size of a golf ball. But despite the number of stops we made and the number of farts passed, we somehow made it to our destination here at World Mark, San Diego. I can only pray that the trip home be nothing remotely similar.

SeaWorld, Universal Studios, and Disneyland are not and never will be ready for us.

Here we come.

To the Land of Magic we go

Well, we depart in T-Minus two hours for our magic-fill Christmas vacation and I could not be more excited. But, I must admit, I am most excited for what "magic" this 18-hour road trip will bring. Who knows, maybe we shall come out of it a stronger, more loving family? Maybe I'll finally get along with Diana now that we're given all this time to settle our differences? Or maybe we'll all discover how incredibly small our bladders are?

I am well aware that when confined in a small space for 18 hours amongst family, it could be life changing. Some serious family bonding is about to occur. This trip could also be the first time someone is thrown out of our van, if need be. We are all going to be sleep deprived and will maintain a very low tolerance for annoying individuals. I mean, we will only be living the good life in Disneyland for approximately ten days. An individual, or one of my siblings, could definitely survive if dropped off at a rest stop with a working water fountain for that long. If we're feeling merciful, we'd leave them with some spare change to purchase goodies from a nearby vending machine too. My money is on "darling" Kevin Jr. to get booted off the island first. He's not tall enough to go on a lot of the rides anyways :p

I volunteered to drive for part of the drive but after my lil episode today, I am sure my parents are seating me as far away as possible from the steering wheel. Yes, I backed up into one of our cars with the van today. Beyond embarrassing. Fortunately, it only left a little dent, hardly noticeable. Adds character I say. It also adds to the large number of times I've hit something.
My uncle who married the Chinese mail order bride is here as well with his Asian baby to house sit. So, I've learned all about the importance of chickens, chicken coops, and how chicken poop makes the best fertilizer. Exciting stuff.

Maybe I'll find my true love amongst the lines of Disneyland and we'll just happen to sit by each other on the ride and just happen to hold hands out of sheer fright of course ;)
One can dream right and I am now heading to the land where dreams really do come true.

The Unspeakable

I have taken it upon myself to be somewhat productive this break and am shelving books...for three days straight. Not to mention a whole "four" hours of shelving each of these days which is a grand total of 12 hours for working this break.
Yes, I am going to over-exert myself I know, but what can I say? I am a workaholic and addicted to shelving. My work ethic is definitely something to be emulated and awed upon. However, one patron during work today did not think so. At all.
During Christmas break, it is beyond me why anyone student would spend their days in the library. This is not my idea of "recovering." I personally prefer to sprawl on my couch accompanied with a generous helping of pumpkin pie while watching some sort of life-altering movie like, How to Train Your Dragon. Then I usually pass out and wake up to a nicely formed pool of drool beneath my face. Good Times. I did this all day yesterday. And the day before and will probably do it all day tomorrow as well. Busy times ahead.
While working in the main sorting area today with my fellow coworkers (place where you place books on carts), a patron walked in while embracing her laptop with an easily detectable anger in her step. In the other hand, she was holding a coffee cup almost as big as my face, which I was sure to comment on upon noticing it.
"Dang, that's quite the holiday coffee mug you have there. What does that hold? Like, 16-20 ounces? I'm impressed you can carry that with one hand," I said very politely.
"Oh. Well. Thanks," the little patron responded coldly. She continued to speak, "I would just like to say that in all my years as working as a librarian, I have never had to tell a fellow librarian to keep their voice down. Please, your voice carries all throughout this floor of the library and it's quite a disturbance." The girl then took a sip of her coffee cup, turned around, and left.

I was stunned. Shocked. Who does this patron think she is? I complemented her huge-ass coffee mug for goodness sake. I was a little hurt but decided to keep my singing to a mere minimum for the rest of the hour. I am pretty sure she is the only person in the world who does not enjoy my rendition of Chris Brown's "This Christmas."
People would pay to listen to this. Top dollaa. Money be green. Yea.

Bald Spot Expanded

My father now resembles this man except my dad's head is a little more egg-shaped.

Yes, Kevin Cochran Sr. is now hairless, bare, bald. I knew this day would come eventually but I had no idea he would ever lose it "intentionally." I am still in utter disbelief every time I gaze upon that hairless surface, which can now blind people when light reflects off it.

Prior to the shave though, he was inspired by Kevin Jr. to dye his hair blonde. I'm glad this phase was short lived. My father's hair honestly appeared as if someone took a piss on his head. Kevin Jr.'s head though still needs some attention...from a razor preferably. asap.

I am slowly growing accustomed to my father's head. I can't help but wonder though that if mad enough, maybe he could boil an egg on his head? Might just have to crack one on there someday...Honestly, what I will miss most about his dwindling hair is that precious bald spot. For the past ten years, it has been my only way to detect him from a crowd. Now, I'll just look for the potato head.
My dad rarely exposes his bald dome, which shines so brightly, due to fear of a contracting a head cold. Let's just say for Christmas I am going to find a beanie that reads, "Not even Bruce Willis's Head Looks this Good Bald."
Thank God my dad's head is big enough for this caption.

Expired Spinach--> Expired Stomach

My first day of Christmas break has finally arrived. I am free to start blogging once again. The bonds of school have been removed and I am overjoyed beyond compare. But my first encounter with expired spinach occurred today as well. All too well. I’m never eating the frickin’ plant again.

For lunch, I created the most exquisite salad dreamed possible. It was complete with crisp, juicy grapes, dried cranberries, tender honey ham, and to my deepest regret, spinach. I topped it all off with Honey Mustard dressing and was loving life for a good twenty minutes, until I choked on a grape. But that was the least of my concerns.

Later, after I devoured my salad of doom, we went to watch Kevin’s volleyball tournament. The best part about watching Kevin play volleyball is the fact that he’s the only boy on the court and that the back of his jersey reads, “Killa.” So precious.

Unfortunately, Kevin’s stomach starting hurting, which prevented him from playing.

“My shorts are too tight,” claimed the “Killa.” My mom offered to cut the elasticity band in his shorts to relieve some of the constriction. However, he’d run the risk of playing with his shorts down to his ankles. I was all for cutting the band. This 5^th grade volleyball game needed some excitement.

Unfortunately, Kevin declined and it was at that point I noticed my own stomach starting to hurt. I wondered if my shorts were too tight as well. But that wasn’t the case for I always ensure I’ve got extra room in my shorts, pants, spandex ect. One never knows when you’ll cross paths with an enormous meal or if you’ll have to partake in a volleyball game ;)

I sat in the fetal position on the bleachers, slowly began to rock back and forth, and pondered what I ate today. I immediately thought of the spinach, which happened to be a questionable green shade. I asked my little sister sitting beside me if she knew what the expiration date on the spinach was. She paused, gave me this horrified look, and responded, “Eww Rachelle. That spinach was past its time on November 28^th!” The spinach was overdue at least twelve days.I knew at that moment today was going to be a long day…in the bathroom.

Currently, I’m feeling loads better after much “unloading” and am looking forward to the rest of this long-delayed winter break, spinach-free.

The Stare of Death

Last weekend, I attended the University of Oregon football game VS. the PSU Vikings with the Polish Beauty Weronika. Not only did I witness a complete slaughter (My apologies Vikings, or as the game program would tactfully say, Pilots), but I witnessed a stare that will forever send chills down my spine. A stare that will forever be engraved in my memory and serve only to haunt me in my nightmares. Fortunately, the stare was not meant for me, but for the lovely Miss W.

The stare-down occurred right after half-time as the Ducks were heading back onto the field to continue their merciless ass-whoopin’. We were standing up in a ledge above the entrance cheering the players on when all of a sudden one of Miss W’s former heartbreaks, LilJon, makes an appearance. The first time we saw him before half time though, he looked harmless. He was bent over with his ass in the air attempting to gracefully pick up the mouth-guard that somehow popped out of his mouth. A sight that would never strike fear into one’s heart. But when we saw him the second time, I hardly even recalled who I was staring at. Maybe I was too distracted by the fact I was peeing my pants. I’ll never know. But I was scared shitless.

It's actually ironic. The first time I see him I'm peeing my pants out of joy because of this mouth-guard episode yet the second time I lay eyes on him, I'm peeing my pants out of fear.

LilJon walked slowly down through the gates, looked up, spotted the Miss W and just stared. Stared with the utmost focus and concentration, it was soul-chilling. I knew that if his mouth-guard popped out then, he would have ignored it this time and just stared. I was scared for my friend and was feeling rather uncomfortable myself. I had never seen a pair of eyes with such burning desire. LilJon stared her down as if she was the endzone and he would take extreme measures to achieve this touchdown. I'll just say that if Weronika was his mouth-guard, he would make sure she'd NEVER fall outta his mouth.

Then again, I could have completely misinterpreted this “glance” and perhaps he wanted nothing more than to inflict physical harm on her because she had previously broken his heart. Either way, I feared for Weronika’s personal safety and emotional well-being. LilJohn did not break this stare for at least ten seconds. I was waiting for him to scale the building with his pads and rubber mouth-guard. Let’ just say if a stare could kill, this Polish girl would be cookin’ her last Perogi.

He finally passed under us and we were both able to breath again. After we both discuss how incredibly uncomfortable that was, we walked around fully alert and avoided all mouth guards at all costs. Go Ducks.

A Saturated Surprise

The lovely people on the Veneta bus were unusally quiet this morning. I didn't even feel as if I was aboard the right bus. Granted, I do plug in my headphones immediately upon arrival to avoid any interactions whatsoever. Yes, I am an introvert on the bus but I have my reasons. Also, my "all-knowing" father strongly suggests I do not develop any "attachments" to the patrons of the Veneta bus. I always take his advice to heart when concerning love, money, and of course, the bus.
I looked around to see just how many people were aboard and there happened to be a good turn-out. Everyone was just staring out into space in an eerie, uncomfortable fashion. I kept my eyes forward as well and looked forward to my eight hour day at the beloved library.

I made it to the Eugene station and then proceeded to board the EmX down to campus. I took a modest seat right next to the door but as I sat down, it was too late. I could feel my jeans slowly being saturated with some mysterious, questionable liquid. Shit.
To add a little cherry on top of this situation, the liquid was freezing cold and a huge spot formed on my ass.
I stood up immediately and could only think of one thing: urine.
I knew people pooped on the benches surrounding the buses so someone peeing on the bus wasn’t that difficult to imagine. No stretch of the imagination whatsoever. I was completely distraught and asked a fellow passenger if my butt appeared wet.
She simply smiled and responded, “Yea, honey you definitely sat in something. You should sniff your hand and make sure it ain’t piss. I’ve seen people piss up in the bus all the time. They just come up in here drunk as shit and relieve themselves in seats jus like that one there.” Her finger pointed to my supposedly “soiled” seat.
I was overjoyed by such news. Over. Joyed.
My heart sunk. I really looked good in these jeans. I could only visualize the appeal of my ass with a huge wet spot on it. But I had a feeling it wasn’t pee just because the mysterious liquid was piercing cold. Unless this individual had something wrong internally and had freezing piss, I was ok. Alas, anything can occur at the Eugene Station though.
I slowly drew my hand to my big Irish nose, and inhaled with caution. To my immediate relief, I smelt nothing. Fortunately, it was only water. I hope. Have no fears though for I have taken the proper precautions and threw those babies in the wash as soon as I got home. I did not reek of urine throughout the day and that was a major plus. All I gained from this experience was a giant wet spot on my ass and some minimal ridicule at work. I just held a book to my ass the first two hours and proceeded to do what a book-shelver does best: shelve.

The Toothless Wonder

The Eugene Bus Station is a place of daring adventure, unexpected mystery, and hidden wonder. Once you enter the humble station, one never truly knows where they will go, who they will meet, and why they met that one unforgettable traveler. Personally, I look forward to the Eugene Bus Station every time because that place is full of inspiration for CochTalk. There’s always bound to be some sort of action whether it’s crazies discretely pooping on benches or weirdos dancing publicly with their oversized headphones. But please, I definitely encourage others to dance as if no one is watching. Especially at the Eugene Bus Station. It’s expected and everything is welcomed in the lovely city of Eugene, Oregon.

As I made my traditional walk to Bus 93, the Veneta Bus, I was stopped by some estranged woman yelling at me. She asked me the same question 3 times until I finally realized she was talking to me. I always try to remain oblivious and introverted at the bus station to avoid any altercations of any kind. I never even attempt to maintain eye contact with anyone. They could take it as disrespect Papa Cochran says. But despite all my efforts, today, my methods failed.
The rough woman asked me from afar, “Hey! So, when do I get this massage you promised me?!”
I was taken aback. Not only by this woman’s rugged appearance but also by the fact she knew I administered massages every once in a while and I supposedly promised HER one. I walked closer hoping to perhaps recognize this woman but alas, I could not. Maybe she was in my same Shiatsu massage class?
Her face could have been a face from my past but I couldn’t be sure. I almost thought she was Linda, the Queen Bitch who rode my bus, but her missing front tooth threw me off. I walked closer, gulped at an audible level, and simply responded, “Oh, hey you! Um, how’s it goin? How you been?” trying to keep my cool. I didn’t want to show any disrespect now. This lady wasn’t afraid to lose some teeth and I do happen to enjoy brushing mine on a daily basis. All of them.

“I’m good, I’m good,” She smiled baring that toothless wonder of a smile.
“So, has John still been stalkin’ you ?” she asked inquisitively.

Ok, who the hell is John? I had no idea who she was referring to and simply thanked God this “John” character wasn’t stalking me. Did she know something about me I didn’t? Do I have a stalker named John? Is he missing a tooth too?

“Oh, no. He done stopped long time ago. Is he, uh, still stalkin’ you?” I asked trying to convey a tough demeanor.

She just shook her head no and smiled. I actually kind of hoped John was ok.
The toothless wonder’s two friends showed up, who looked equally as tough, so I decided it was my cue to peace out, respectfully.
“Well, it was good seein’ you girl. Take care and I hope you get that massage soon. Bye!”
I ran to my bus, didn’t look back at my new friend, and made sure to brush my teeth as soon as I came home.

StarGazing to Death: Part 2

This was beginning to become a manifestation of complete horror. Some scene one would see featured in some stupid horror flick was beginning to become our reality.

The figure was slowly walking towards us and we were all huddled at the end of the dock with absolutely no where to go.

We all started to yell and ask the mysterious psycho questions like, “Hello?” “Who are you?” “Hey, how’s it going?” hoping, praying he would respond in some friendly manner. We all started to pee our pants as he continued walking towards us neglecting to answer ANY of our questions.

Emily quickly panicked and said, “Ok, guys I think it’s time to go. Let’s go, let’s go.”

She didn’t have to tell my ass twice. I quickly grabbed my flip-flops, stood up, and realized something to my complete horror: my left foot was fucking asleep. I was going to die.

China, Emily’s friend spoke up and said, “Everyone, let’s just walk down there nice and calm. Who the hell is this fucker and why won’t he answer us?”
I slowly attempted to stand up and said “All right, the key here is not to panic.”

As we gathered our things we all huddled closely together, while the strange figure is still closing in. I could not believe this was happening. We were all going to die and no one would hear our screams. No one.

I knew for sure he had a knife or maybe HE even carried a sword! Some sick, twist of fate like that was sure to occur during a moment like this. I definitely let China walk down the dock to her death first, mostly because she was willing to. The only weapon I had was my brick-like phone or my red-flimsy flip-flops which could inflict much pain if I slapped them both across his face real hard with précised timing. However, it would have proved a most difficult feat due to my sleeping foot. Shit.

As I hobbled down the dock, I wondered if I’d survive jumping in the lake and just swimming to shore, leaving the others behind. Although I am no Michael Phelps, I heard the body could accomplish grand displays of athleticism if threatened by death. I would have gone to find help, of course, and return promptly. I had a feeling one of us was going to die, someone in a situation like this always does. But just because I was temporarily crippled, I was going to make sure it wasn’t me. Survival of the fittest. Sorry Diana.

China was about ready to tackle this hooded sicko when all of a sudden we heard the man say, “It’s me!!!”
The stranger revealed himself and it was China’s good Hawaiian friend, Liki (Pronounced Leaky like a Leaky-bucket). Emily and Liki had been planning to scare us down here ALL DAY. I would have been more mad but was relieved I was still breathing and could still fulfill my dream of having 7 Philippino babies. We all had a good laugh afterwards but I am still recovering.

I shall live to fight another day but rest assured, I am never going stargazing again. Unless, of course, I am carrying a huge motha-fuccin’ sword.

StarGazing To Death: Part 1

We all undergo near death-defying moments in our lives. Moments that will forever be engraved within our memories causing us to shiver at the recollection. Moments where our life truly does flash before our eyes and we realize that none of those past memories matter. Nothing matters but trying to survive those next couple minutes. I am a survivor. And this is my story.

My story takes place two nights ago on September 4th, 2010 in the most desolate, remote part in all of Ashland, Oregon: the lake dock.
My darling cousin Emily, conjured up the brilliant idea to go stargazing down at the local lake dock. This idea would have been slightly more appealing if wind speeds weren’t blowing at a whole 14 mph and if I brought my poop-colored jacket along. But, alas, I proceeded to freeze my ass off.

Our party consisted of me, sister Diana, Emily, and her tough yet scrawny friend China. We all climbed into her set of wheels and slowly drove ourselves to our impending doom. We arrived at the lake dock and ventured down the rocky hill to sit and freaking stargaze. While we were walking down, myself tripping over rocks periodically, we heard a noise in the distance. We could not see anything within a foot. I could hardly make out my huge-ass nose. It was pitch black and we all depended on our cell phones to illuminate the ground beneath. My sister Diana asked, “Hello? Is that a dog?” assuming the dog would give an answer of some sort. I almost wished it was a dog so I could have used it as my own seeing-eye dog. My feet did not appreciate the treatment it was receiving and a moderately sized dog could have carried me to safety or something.

But, this sound was not being made by a dog at all, but by some couple: a boy and a girl. What was strange was that they didn’t answer my sister’s inquiry but instead gave out a little chuckle. We probably interrupted their little romantic rendezvous but I could’ve cared less. My ass had goose-bumps.

The four of us finally made it to the dock equipped with only a wool blanket to keep us warm. We all had to huddle up to try and produce any heat we could muster but the wind was too strong. I felt as if we could’ve blown off the dock at any second. Any joy that was supposed to be associated with this activity was slowly dwindling. We were officially the only people down by the dock…so we thought.

As we were complaining about how cold it was, we heard a figure in the distance crack a stick or stub his toe, or something. I was sure it was nothing but just to be safe I yelled out, “Don’t worry guys I’m carrying a really big sword with me.” I knew that would have intimidated any intruder. But ten seconds later we hear heavy footsteps on the dock approaching where we were. These footsteps gave off a sound conveying this figure was heavy, most likely wearing boots that could crush our skulls. I did not like the sound either way and my goose bumps began to multiply. We all looked towards the shore and eventually the silhouette of a tall, dark clothed figure began to appear. I then proceeded to shit my pants.

Praise to my Faithful Followers: My Best Friend, My Sister, My Cousin, and Myself

I would simply like to take the time to personally dedicate this blog to the people who serve as my momentum, my sole reason for continuing this blog: my followers.
You have no idea how much you all mean to me and to the success of my blog. Weronika, Brittany, Andy, (and Myself), although you are few in number, remember it is you who bring a smile to my face each time I decide to post a “New Post.”
I honestly never thought my follower base would exceed the number 2 (me and the lovely Miss W) but now it is at a whopping four and is growing on monthly basis by one person. I am hoping by the end of this year, although it is going to be a quite a stretch, to have at least seven. I will try not to let you all down and quit Cochtalk but will instead continue this blog until I decide to make a book out of my “fascinating” bus trips to work. It shall be entitled, “The Bus. And the People On it,” “Strange Times and Odors on the Veneta Bus, ”Or “The Wheels on this Bus Should Not go Round and Round.”

Please, my 3 lovely followers, if you have any input as to what you feel this title should be, comment.

Do not think I ever take you people for granted. I know how hard it is to follow someone’s blog because I barely know how to do it myself. I mean, I have only been able to follow one blog.

You give me strength. You endow me with hope. You light my fire. The fire to carry on these silly posts similar to the way they carry that Olympic torch which supposedly never burns out. Because of you, no fire extinguisher can blow it out. Not even the Olympic Torch can say that.

I thank you all from the very depths of my heart. May God Bless and may God be with each and every one of you the next time you decide to utilize the public bus as your mode of transportation.

Tattoo Ideas

This past weekend, I spent it in Eastern Oregon with my Polish Beauty sidekick, Miss W. Prineville is a beautiful town but we decided to see the sights and grace the warm springs of Kah-Nee-Ta with our presence. The waters of Kah-Nee-Ta are thought to be healing waters if swam in. So, Miss W insisted that we take a little dip in the pool. The same pool she continued to throw me around in. Fully dressed. Neither of us had our swimsuits or any towels. Unfortunately, I soon discovered it’s near impossible to put skinny jeans on while soaked and have vowed to never attempt to do so again. I’m stealing a fucking towel next time.

While we were splashing around in the pool like two fully clothed weirdos, I spotted a younger boy with a cross tattooed…on his face. He was moderately attractive with his olive skin and silky dark locks but mostly, he reminded me of a former Indian lover of mine (who shall not be named at the moment). Naturally, I was curious about it. What inspires one to brand their face? Miss W insisted I follow through with my curiosity and question him about his ink. As I ventured closer to the lad, I noticed he was in fact older and had a difficult time focusing his eyes in one spot for an extended period of time. I couldn’t tell what was exactly going on with them. They were slightly cross-eyed yet cock-eyed. His eyes were also blood-shot. Probably due to all the chlorine, of course.

The cross tattoo was right below his left eye and was no bigger than your average quarter. I gathered up the courage and asked, “Hey, I really like your tat. Where did you get your ink done at?”

The man-boy looked at me for a second and then up at the sky and said, “I did it myself…in jail.” After he spat this reassuring news, he smiled all creepy-like and had a crazy look in his already crazy eyes.

I stood there, motionless, feeling rather frightened all of a sudden. “Oh, well, how did you manage to do that?” I spat out without thinking.

“I just did it with…things,” he responded as he began to poke at his tattoo.

“Oh. Cool. Well, it’s really pretty. Nice job.” I then swam the opposite direction and decided that I should stick with my no-questioning-strangers-policy for the rest of my life.

The Journey for Pickles and all its Hardships

Last Friday, in the midst of a long, tiresome 8-hour day at the library, I took my well-deserved lunch break at Starbucks to meet up with a friend, Chris. Before I departed, a fellow co-worker made a request, an order that caught me completely off guard. She handed me 50 cents and asked if I could grab her a miniature cup of pickles from Quizno’s. Although I found her request strange, I refrained from delving into her personal matters any further. From my experience associated with the Veneta bus, I eventually learned it was better to refrain from asking too many questions. You learn things you shouldn’t like, how much people like to poop.

I nodded conveying I would kindly take up this questionable deed, unaware of the impending consequences. I simply proceeded to ask her if she would like any mustard with her lonely cup of pickles. She gave me a weird face and said, “No. Just pickles you weirdo.” I disregarded that ego-boosting comment and commenced operation: pickles.

I safely made it to Starbucks, chatted with Chris, and then ventured over to Quizno’s with one thing in mind: pickles. I asked the nice man at the counter how many pickles I could get with a quarter. The man, who’s bald head was so finely polished I could’ve sworn I saw my reflection when the light hit it just right, gave me a quizzical look and said I could grab a cup full at the pickle bar near the assorted drinks. Who knew Quizno’s had a pickle bar? A bar of options dedicated to pickles? What the hell? Just one more reason why I prefer Subway. Eat Fresh.

I sauntered my way over there, accompanied by Chris, and scooped myself a generous helping of finely sliced pickles. As I used my massive bicep to snap the lid, Bald sandwich man yelled from the counter, “So, what’s the deal? Are you pregnant?”

I stood there. With my pickles. Shocked. What kind of a question was that?! Is he even allowed to ask such a thing even if it was clearly evident I had a bun in the oven? But clearly, I was not with child and clearly, he was out of line with such a question.

I gasped and said, “Excuse me? Does it even remotely look like I’m pregnant? Are pickles good for pregnancy or something? Why would you even ask that?”

“Oh, well, all I know is that pregnant women have these uncontrollable cravings and I just thought that these pickles were one of your uncontrollable cravings,” he stupidly replied.

“Well, you thought wrong bucko.” I scoffed.
And then, just like the cherry on the top of a disastrous sundae, Chris touched my arm and asked, “Oh, honey, do you need some more pickles?”

Screw Pickles.

The Last Song --> The Last Miley Cyrus Movie I'll Ever Watch

The treasured Miley Cyrus movie, The Last Song, was finally available at our local movie gallery, Rays. I rented it without a moment’s hesitation because I had to find out for myself how horrid Miley Cyrus’s snaggle tooth is. The rumors were true, slap some Invisiline on that girl. It actually wasn’t too dreadful but if one has more than enough money to correct a little noticeable imperfection, such as a snaggle tooth, why not fix it? I fixed mine and now the kids at school don’t make fun of me. Life is great. Perhaps Miley believes it adds character to her smile, her persona. Honestly, no matter what the child does, she’ll always resemble a little chipmunk to me. She could definitely be the fourth chipmunk addition to the current three. Her voice is nasal enough to join that little band as well. She’s set.

But the movie, overall, was fairly decent. I guess I am just embarrassed about the fact I couldn’t stop crying near the end. I am embarrassed by the fact that a Miley Cyrus movie affected my emotional well-being enough to induce tears. Tears I will never be able to get back. Oh well, it just goes to show that even the toughest of the tough can convey emotion. I used a whole roll of toilet paper I could’ve used on my ass but that’s the price I pay for putting in that video. Miley’s boy-toy in the movie was the equivalent to a babe and a half and has become a recent addition on my “To-Marry” List.

My younger brother walked in on my drooling, babbling self. Pointed. And laughed. I tried to throw my snotty tissues at him but it was to no avail. I was emotionally drained at this point and could do only one thing: cry.

Congratulations Miley Cyrus. You got the best of me. Just know, that I “Can’t Be Tamed.”

Too Much Texture

The other day I ventured to see Joan Jett, the 50 year old rocker who sings the old-time classic “I Love Rockin’ Roll,” at the Lane County Fair with a boy. Yes, a boy. Not just any boy in particular. We met in improv class and pretty much instantly clicked right after we performed our “Train Robbery” scene. I was a helpless damsel and he was a mute train robber who threatened to kill me. It was a hit, especially after he slapped on those hand-cuffs ;)
Did I mention he could play the bagpipes and dresses like Mel Gibson from Brave Heart for fun? I do believe we have potential but unfortunately, the date was something out of the unexpected. Let’s just say I’m bringing my little sister next time.

On the way to the fair though, something extremely odd occurred as I purchased my Pomegranate Vitamin water at the register situated inside our beloved WalMart. The lady in front of me, I kid you not, was buying 15+ massive containers of yogurt. All kinds of yogurt from strawberry, strawberry banana, to banana. It was as if this lady thought the world was soon going to undergo a yogurt scarcity of some sort. I’d be surprised if that WalMart has any yogurt left. Perhaps she was going to have an “All-Yogurt-Party” or she was pregnant and had uncontrollable yogurt cravings. Maybe she had 12 kids at home who had to be on an all-yogurt-diet? As my mind was racing with all these possibilities the clerk was also both curious and alarmed at this vast amount of yogurt. This was definitely enough yogurt to feed 20 people who had their wisdom teeth removed or perhaps enough to feed a small African country. She asked her what it was for but alas, I couldn’t hear the answer because the beep on the checking machine was too loud. I was crushed. But I never give up hope, so I asked the clerk if the lady had a child who had his teeth removed. She simply shook her head no and responded with zero emotion, “Her son does not like the texture of food and therefore, only consumes yogurt.”

I was completely distraught and could only feel sorry for this child’s bowel movements. God help him.

Veneta- History Best Left Unknown

A few days ago I decided I needed to incorporate some spice into my life and check out a spicy, hott romance novel drenched with passion on every page. So, my father and I drove to our local library and I checked out a sexy romance novel entitled, Temptations. Just the title of the book was tempting enough but the bulging muscles of the man pictured on the cover became the real deal-clincher. I read the little spoiler on the back and it was about a covert undercover accountant trying to solve a mystery but falls in love inadvertently along the way. My resistance to the muscles on the cover was growing weak and I caved in. I am now halfway through Temptations and loving it.

But after I checked out the book, my father and I walked by some questionable looking individuals on the way to our vehicle. It’s no surprise, though, for Veneta is known for being home to the questionable-looking sort. Of course after every “interesting” person we pass by in this town, my father cannot keep from asking, “Hey Rachelle, they a friend of yours?” I usually respond by ducking my head and by very quickly responding, “No. Dad. They look your age.”

Out of nowhere then, my father begins to explain to me why many people in Veneta appear as if they have derived from an incest-filled past. It is because…many people did have some incest in their family tree. I was completely shocked and distraught at this news. It all made sense. I have definitely seen some people who could have been casted in the movie Deliverance or Hunchback of Notre Dame. I then proceeded to ask my father why we moved out here again and he simply responded, “For your Catholic education, of course.” I thanked God that I had no incest in my ancestry and for my impressive taste in choosing romance novels.

A very important question was answered for me today. “Why do many people in this town look a little too related?”
Answer: Because they are.

Madam Big Eyes

Nothing grants me as much joy as riding the city bus every morning to my beloved job at the University library. No, nothing even comes close except for indescribable taste of coffee, which I recently have taken up again. Giving up coffee was by far the worst idea I have ever developed. The past month has been excruciatingly painful and I have vowed never to put myself through such suffering anymore. I truly do feel as if I have discovered what’s been missing in my life. Life has purpose once again. I felt like a crack addict being reunited with the only substance that understands them and their every need. Sleep really is a symptom of caffeine deprivation. My love for coffee is everlasting and our bond will never be broken. Amen.

As I finished my elixir of life on the bus, I noticed one of my favorite passengers happen to be riding which of whom I call, “Madam Big Eyes.” I have decided to endow her with such a nick-name because every time someone tells her something she reacts with enormous eyes threatening to pop out of socket and is accompanied by a huge gasp of, “Oh my Goodness!” She is probably around her early 60’s and always leaves her mouth open. It saves time I guess when she becomes surprised.

This morning, some man was talking to her about an argument he recently had with another man and he happened to mention his rifle. All I know is that Madam Big Eye’s face must have been exhausted after this story because I have never seen a more animated face. I even became exhausted just watching the wrinkly face contort. I stared in amazement while subtlety trying to mind my own business. I’ve learned the hard way about holding eye contact with fellow passengers on the Veneta bus. Many believe it’s an automatic invitation to start sharing life story.

Madam Big Eyes noticed me staring and quickly said, “Oh, don’t mind me darling. My face does this all the time.” I was completely caught off guard and responded, “Oh, no I’m sorry. It must be a good story with a face like that.” The elderly lady quietly chuckled and immediately returned to her big-eyed self. She knew she made these faces yet she still made them? I then got the sinking feeling that perhaps she couldn’t control how her face reacted and felt a little bad for her. I tried not to look at her the rest of the ride and it was by far the hardest task especially with her yelling, “Oh no!,” “Dear goodness!,” “No!” It was almost as hard as giving up coffee. Almost.

Bless Me Father, For I See You

For some odd reason, nothing produces a bigger feeling of awkwardness within me than seeing my priest outside of his usual priestly habitat. I know such occurences should not be uncomfortable but it just feels unnatural seeing one’s priest roaming around outside of church with the rest of us mere mortals. Especially at a hippie-infested congregation also known as the country fair or at the classy cheap theater, for the movie Prince of Persia no less.

Each time I see this 6’ 3’’ giant (making it impossible to miss him), the same thoughts run through my mind, “Do I say hello or save us both from embarrassment and exit quietly?” “Should I be here?” “Should he even be here?” “Why is he HERE?”

I first saw Father out of his holy domain at the renowned country fair. This is possibly the last place I would ever expect to see this man of God, besides a strip club of course. Unless he was trying to preach and convert the hippies, I just could not picture him here. Mostly because there happens to be many men and women who love to express themselves in unconventional ways such as painted ta-ta’s and wiener-socks. I am just thanking the dear Lord I refrained from wearing my bikini top that day. My stomach was looking rather bloated early that morning. If I saw Father with my bloated, exposed belly, I would have been mortified and pretty sure I would have found a new church to join.

I saw Father close to where the topless violinists were playing and he was in his full priestly attire making him appear like some white- robed preacher. All he was missing was a staff. Father was following some little old lady dressed in leaves and she was sporting a nice set of fairy wings. I really did love her glitter face paint though and wondered why Father didn’t have any on. I yelled at him from a distance and he came over with the fairy who I was introduced to and was told to address her by, “The Hemp Fairy.” Apparently, the “Hemp Fairy” has given my priest free tickets to the country fair for the past two years and Father just loves coming. I refrained from asking how they met mostly because I needed to escape from this awkward moment from hell. I simply said good bye to Father and the “Hemp Fairy” after a few minutes and prayed I would not run into that little duo again.

About a month later, I run into Father again at the movie theater for Prince of Persia. He was in normal clothes which was surprisingly uncomfortable for his legs are just so long. He was with some random group of people I have never seen before and I did not say hi this time. I’m pretty sure he heard me behind him though…where I sat the entire movie. That’s all right though. We had a silent understanding. I’m just hoping the next time I see him will be in church. Please.

Towed to Humiliation

I somehow miraculously made it to my destination: the campground. It was a lonely three hours but thanks to my beats, namely Jeremih’s up-tempo version of “Birthday Sex,” and thanks to the final directions given to me by the creepy gas-station lady, the drive was but a blur. Thank God for Google-Map Step-By-Step Directions. And for Jeremih. I have recently developed a long-term plan to marry him. On my Birthday ;)

The following morning, as I woke up to my own pool of drool on my sleeping bag, I mentally prepared myself for what was to come: kayaking. I didn’t know too much about the activity other than it involved paddling and that with too much movement, it could easily tip. I thought that due to my muscular yet feminine biceps, the paddling I could perform with an ease but I’m not one for remaining still. I knew one thing was for sure. This was going to be the adventure of a lifetime. Perhaps kayaking is my hidden talent and that I am, in fact, the Lance Armstrong of kayaking. Dream big.

Once we arrived at the departure site, we were all ordered to strap on our lifejackets and to attach red little rape-whistles on them, in case the kayak should sink. Or, if the kayaker we get paired up with happens to be a major creep and you require back up. There were a total of 16 kayakers and two guides who graciously educated us throughout the tour on how all the rock formations formed. Mind-blowing.
My younger sister Yvonne insisted that we share a kayak together because her other partner option was, Diana. Enough said.

According to our guide, the kayaker who sits in the front is usually the power-paddler and the kayaker who sits in the back holds the most responsibility. The kayaker in the back must be the one with intellect and carry natural instincts for they are in control of the most crucial element to kayaking, steering. So, naturally, I sat in the back and Yvonne sat in the front. We were soon to discover though that we lacked both power and brains.

Yvonne would paddle hard and I would try my best to steer but it would only slow us down. I admit it. I had no idea what the hell I was doing and we eventually hit every rock in sight. I am still amazed till this moment how we did not sink that freaking kayak. It was obvious to our fellow kayakers that we were struggling because we were behind the group by 50 freaking feet. My arms were killing me and the humiliation was starting to settle in. Shit.

I knew we were in for a treat when our guide had to paddle back to us and suggested that she “tow” us for a while so we could actually finish the tour. She literally pulled out a freakin’ rope, tied it on her kayak, and then tied it to ours. And away we went. She tried to teach me how to steer but it was to no avail. I had zero coordination in the back of that kayak and was especially loving life when we made it to the rest of the group. Some old woman said upon our return, “Haha. They’re being towed. Can we all point and laugh?”

My dignity had then sunk to the bottom of that lake and I decided that kayaking sucked. Things got really bad when we started to somehow pull our instructor towards the rocks as well. She was not a happy camper, decided we were a lost cause, and let us loose. We were on our own and had to travel back against 14mph winds. I was about to pee my pants but I then realized I’d have to sit in it. And Yvonne. Haha. I’m not that cruel.

But eventually, we got the hang of it. I just had to paddle the exact same time as Yvonne did in order to avoid hitting her paddle. It worked like a charm and we then transformed into a well-oil kayaking machine. It was glorious. But my arms are still recovering and I’m pretty sure I won’t ever be kayaking again. Unless I am being towed.

Asian Persuasion

It is settled. I am going to produce nothing but adorable, small, intelligent, squinty-eyed Asian Babies. My Uncle Justin's child, Kenny, melts my heart with his Oriental features. He's only two and just gets cuter in time. His little sister Melanie (6 months) is cute but hopefully she'll blossom eventually. She reminds me of a Cabbage Patch Doll except with softer hair. Due to the fact that she has Asian hair-follicles. Lucky Noodle. Maybe I am just bored with her cause all she does is eat, cry, and poop.
The way my Uncle and his Chinese wife communicate is interesting. They don't. Only God knows how they communicated via email. The exchange probably went something like this:

"Hi, my name is Justin. What's your name and where do you live?"
"My name Moo-Yuang. I live China. My English poor."
"That's great. I have always wanted to visit China. Is the food good there?"
"Food very good. Come visit. Bring me back to States. Gimme Green Card."

My Uncle revealed to me that he visited her in China, they took a ride on her moped through the crowded streets in China, and then they simply fell in love in China. They now live in a trailer above my Uncle's personally dug bomb-shelter and produce beautiful Asian children. Maybe my uncle could dig me my own personal hole to China so I could find a soul-mate too?

Pre-Camping Thoughts

Well, tomorrow I make my journey to the heart of Oregon and join the clan for some quality camping. We brought our 30 ft. camper, our boat, and 9 bags of marshmellows. My daddy called me yesterday with some startling news though. The kinda news that just sinks your heart...Our boat sunk.
Apparently, "someone" forgot to replace the boat-plug before we threw our boat in the water and it was simply too late. The boat was over-flooding. By the time they pulled the boat back up, it was so heavy that it tweaked out the boat trailer as well. Something also screwed up the gas lines...probably all the freaking water. So now that boating is off the list of things to do, the family has resorted to hiking and making jewelry. Apparently my mother brought her little jewelry kit. Cute.
I personally am looking forward to all the stories told around the bonfire. Especially the stories told by my darling G-Ma who suffers a little bit from dimensia. She was somehow persuaded to come by my Uncle Don. He probably slipped her some mind-easing pill.
Since I am only one shade away from being considered an African American, my goal is to come back from this trip with people believing that my name is Shoneequa. Corn rows would be next on the agenda. People would have no choice but to take me seriously. Otherwise, I'd be all ova them like stink on doo-doo.
I am looking forward to what the weekend brings. Brittany already leaves for North Dakota on Saturday. Whenever life gets you down, things could be worse. You could be on a plane for fucking North Dakota ;)

Preparing for Camping- Coch-Style

This week my family is camping in the heart of Central Oregon at a little campground called Billy Chinook. I won’t be joining them till Thursday due to school and work. So naturally, I believe I can be excluded from the packing duties. If you saw how much we had to pack, you would do anything to excuse yourself as well. My mother packs for camping trips as if we’re moving to this destination. Permanently. We definitely have enough food to feed a moderately sized African country. Which, in actuality, is probably a good thing since my Dad’s whole family will be joining us later. My grandma can really eat when she wants to.

And, out of the goodness of my heart, I did make a small contribution and packed a few chairs into the trailer. But sadly, that was the extent of my assistance when it came to preparing for this trip. I was far too busy with other things like taking saunas, laying on our trampoline, and working on my sixpack. Oh well, they somehow managed without me.

Things started to take a turn for the worse though after my dad had announced that while he was giving the dogs their daily food and water, he happened to step in dog shit. This would not have been so bad if he had found that out BEFORE he walked around the house for about 15 minutes. Apparently, my dad’s sense of smell is delayed for that long of time. Everyone now proceeds with caution around the house and is sure to have dad wipe the remains off whenever found. The family will be leaving tomorrow round ten so realistically 11 and I will be house-sitting with my Uncle Justin. And his Chinese-Mail-Order Bride, Moo-Young. Exciting times ahead I tell you.

Deflated Tubes

"I laugh in the name of danger." This is quoted from the beloved children's classic, "The Lion King." After Simba spits this out with unwavering confidence, I thought he was such a badass. Ever since that movie, I too, have longed for a moment where I could laugh and scoff at danger. "Being a badass" is actually on my list of things to do. I occassionally try to succeed at this by wearing my bright pink du-rag from time to time or my blinding grill. Depends on my mood. The response I receive however is never one of fear but one of disbelief. Laughter, to put it simply. But today, I had my chance, my time to shine. I will never try to be a badass again.My sister and I decided that floating down the Willamette River would be a "fun" idea and we ventured on this adventure with our lifelong friends, the Cauthorns.I am something close to a genius and blew up an enormous purple innertube designed to be pulled by a boat. I definitely gloated in my brilliance the whole way down the river...for a while.My genius of a sister however, purchased 6 small "flower innertubes" for herself and for some of the poor, unsuspecting Cauthorn boys. These midget tubes could barely fit over a human skull nonetheless a waist. They were $2 each from WalMart and I still believe she overpaid for these shit floaties. The Cauthorns basically said "Screw That" and went back to grab some rubber rafts from their house. Brittany took advantage of the extra "flower innertubes" and put one over each limb. This somehow kept her afloat ...with the exception of her ass dragging as the anchor. Nothing a little Neosporin can't fix. Brittany's butt has been through a lot of these similar situations. The blessings of a huge ass I guess. All that padding is good for somethin.'I made sure my butt however remained dry and I was loving life. I couldn't help but feel like such a badass floatin' down this river with "no worries about a thing." Our guide though, Luc, didn't have a plan on how to get out of this river though. shit.The Willamette River is full of deadly currents and protruding sticks and rocks. It's a miracle we all survived.We climbed onto some random shoreline and hoped for an exit to the road. After walking through bushes and shrubs full of thorns, we decided we'd have to float down the roaring rapids a little farther and latch onto the sharp rocks. I was done at this point and my tube was essentially deflated...along with my badass ego. This was not going to be fun in any way, shape, or form.We started floating and I lost my beloved right flip-flop in the process but we somehow latched onto the rocks, cutting my precious foot. We climbed the sharp rocks with our deflated floaties and never looked back.On a side note, I now know why shoes are the most important possession if the world should enter an apocalypse of some sort. Because feet are the most SENSITIVE part of the freaking human body. I proceeded to cut and burn my feet again. Well, just my right foot that is.This river trip was definitely a once-in-a-lifetime-experience. When I wish to feel like a badass, I am simply sticking to my du-rag. Watch out.

The Bus and the People on it

This morning, I cooked my tradtitional omlet to borderline perfection making sure it was tender in all the right spots. You know it's gonna be a good omlet when you don't flip it out of the pan ;) I require a man who can cook an omlet equally as satisfying or who knows how to cook the shit out of a pan in a different way. Whatever comes out of that pan better be frickin' mouth-watering. My future Indian husband will be able to cook an egg any way I please while dancing to his Bollywood beats. He will also be smelling like a dead-sexy Sutlan. "Sultan of the Egg" I shall call him. But I knew while devouring this breakfast-for- champions that today was indeed going to be a good day. And it was.

Today, July 29th at 3:40, is a day I shall never forget.
I made it to the bus without burning my feet and was fortunate enough to have a familiar face sit next to me. His name is Colton, he will be freshmen at the U of O, and has a beard fit for a caveman. Sweet kid but he needs to be introduced to a shaver. asap

As we were talking, waiting to depart from the friendly Eugene bus station, a female security guard about the size of a defensive linemen made an appearance aboard the little Veneta bus. I was intrigued and just stared. I was just waiting for her to sit down and pull out a doughnut, twinkie, or something similar that she'd inhale with great pleasure. But no. This large mass of authority was not to be reckoned with and I didn't feel like getting eaten. She stomped down the ailse creating a mini earthquake that could not be ignored and I continued to watch this scene enfold. She was on a mission.

Security Officer Butch approached an elderly, questionable- looking woman at the back of the bus and demanded that she'd come with her so as to answer a few "questions." I feared for the elderly woman's safety but soon realized she was a twig old lady and that no one would waste calories on eatin' that. Phew.

The two of them marched outside and Officer Butch just began to yell at this poor woman. Us passengers did not have the slightest clue what she could have done. We all took guesses: shoplifting, jay-walking, drunk, crack-cocaine? But alas, none of us were even close as to why Butch wrote her a ticket.

I had to find out. So as soon as little old woman came back on the bus holding her newly won ticket-fine, I eased-dropped on the conversation she had with a nearby passenger. The dialogue went something like this,
Passenger: What the hell was that all about? Are you ok? What happened?
Old Woman: Well, funny story you see. I kind of did something I wasn't suppose to. I couldn't help it though. It just happened and I had no control. I had a little accident on a bench over there. A poop accident. And I left it. They had to bag it [shit] up and apparently it's illegal to do stuff like that...on a bench.
Passenger: Oh....so you pooped on a bench? And they wrote you a ticket?
Old Woman: Yes. I just had an accident on a bench. That's all.

I was in shock and so was the man next to her because he stood up and decided to sit at the front of the bus far, far away from the out-of-control-pooping lady.
This old woman just shitted on a bench and just left it. A little, "harmless" present for all to treasure. I could not believe it.

How did she do that?! Did she have a little flap on her ass she could unbutton so she could just "drop a hott one" anytime she pleased? Where can I get one? Was anybody sitting next to her on this unfortunate bench?
I know it's a huge fine if you just leave your dog shit on public property so I can't even imagine how much that woman's own shit cost her. A shit-load. That's how much. ha. She should of at least had the decency to bag it up and throw that away in the nearest trash recepticle. That's why you always should keep a zip-loc on ya ;) Question: can one recycle one's shit? In Eugene, I would say so.
I have never encountered shit of any kind (with the exception of birdshit) on a bench and I realize now how lucky I am for this. I warn all my "many" readers that please look before you sit because it could be very well be shit.
Today was definitely the best day of my life.

Life's Sweet Lessons

I try at all costs to avoid inflicting pain upon myself but yesterday I was something similar to a dumb-ass.
It all started with a wonderful afternoon which consisted of me trying to kill zombies on my friend's Wii (Resident Evil) and dying. Continuously. After five minutes I decided I had, had enough of this crap and tried to perserve whatever dignity I had left by playing Mario Cart racing. The results of this game were even worse. I have come to the conclusion that I can't play video games worth shit. But I decided to walk out of that house with my head held high until I discovered that I could be late for the beloved bus back to ole' good Veneta.
I wasn't sure how much time I had but I knew I had to be quick about the trip to the bus stop. In order to make it on time, I believed that taking off my sandals, that protected me from the scorching pavement, would give me the gift of flight. I definitely did fly on that pavement. After of course, I realized my feet were melting. They were the eggs in a frying pan and I was a dumb shit because I ended up being 15 minutes early for my bus.
My fried tootsies have never been in so much pain in my entire life. They could pretty much be classified as "cooked sausages." I could barely walk. Times like these, I wish I knew how to walk on my hands or even somersault perhaps in a straight line.
I almost contemplated calling in sick for work today on account of being cripple but I decided to man-up. I thought about calling in again after I couldn't locate my little brother's wheelie-chair-scooter-contraption. But I eventually put on the fuzziest pair of socks I own, my chewed-up loafers, and I shelved every book like it was my last. I was asked several times by my co-workers why I was walking like I had a stick up my ass or as they so cleverly put it, a book. Fantastic.
Good news is though, my feet have made a full recovery 24 hours later. I can now walk, run, and skip like a growing child. It's a miracle. I shall never, ever again travel anywhere in this world barefoot. I'd rather walk home than burn my feet trying to catch that freaking bus.

BollyWood Obsession

Last night, I invited myself to the most phenomenal party I have ever attended in my entire life. It was a graduation party for one of my little sister's friends and it was Bollywood themed. I was in love from the moment I walked in the door and heard all the adorable little Indian accents. I danced the entire time and ate chicken. Four chickens to be exact. The spice on them was unbelievable and I believe cocaine had something to do with it.
I added some new moves to my repetoire and am excited to display it this fall. I am definitely making sure we have a bollywood-themed dance for Pi-Phi...if we're allowed any fun this year, that is.
But my biggest concern is how I am going to have a Bollywood-themed wedding without looking too stupid. I think the only way to get away with it is to marry an Indian which is definitely possible. Every Indian I've ever met smells like a dead-sexy Sultan. Pretty sure I saw Jasmin's dad last night too by the way. Except his mustache had way more curl. The best thing about last night though was not one time did I feel like I'd be stoned for my actions which could otherwise be considered in appropriate. My dancing was definitely something they've never witnessed...that's why I was dancing alone more than half the time. The other half were dance lessons from the DJ himself. He said I had potential. Sweet guy.
I love Bollywood Music. In fact, I am listening to it right now and loving it. Bum Bum Dole Salaam Eckshel. ya, ya. Time to dance ;)

My New Friend

Last Friday, something magical happened. I made a new friend and she says her friends call her Linda, the queen bitch. You can only imagine my excitement when I heard such insightful information.
It all happened by chance. As usual, I took the bus at seven thirty for work but this time, it was different. Only Linda was on the bus. Maybe the usual riders were wary of this tid-bit about Linda and refused to ride that day or maybe I was destined to face this woman alone. Destined to befriend the beast.
Usually, I just sit in my seat in the third row, pop in my head phones, and pretend I am socially inept. Linda knew better though.
I called in to work informing them I'd be late but was so excited to shelve ( I make this call every morning due to the slow pace of the bus) and Linda overheard me. She asked where I worked, I told her, and then the life-story began. I don't know what I said that could have possibly been interpreted as an invitation for such a conversation but out it came.
I asked her where she rides the bus to every morning and all she responded with was, "treatment." Hopefully dental treatment I thought. The woman was missing a good three front teeth. Bet she can whistle real well though them gaps though ;)
Linda is 33 and is only carded when purchasing alcohol when she wears make-up she said. This is also one of her pet-peeves so she rarely puts on make-up. Nice.
She has five kids and go in this order, girl-boy-girl-boy-boy. One child is a red-head and has the usual spit-fire/hot-headed temper that comes along with having the dreaded red hair. The red-head is the one who tells Linda not to smoke or else. She is 12 I believe. The last child's father is a multiple choice question for Linda. I am sure all of the children's daddy's are....oh dear.
Her current boyfriend is in jail but will be out in a few months. He's been locked up for two years for some federal crime Linda said mysteriously. I refrained from asking what crime he committed...this was a long bus ride.
Linda said she got her nickname from some friends. The nickname, Linda-Queen-Bitch that is. She tells people straight-up how she feels at all times no matter how mean or bitch-like. I had no problem visualizing this.
The most special thing about Linda though is that she is able to read auras. I asked her about mine and she said I was bubbly and charming. This was a special moment in time, for I knew I had made a new friend. Charming Rachelle and Linda-Queen-Bitch BFF's forever. The bus is indeed a magical place. Can't wait for tomorrow's new adventure.

Recovered at Last

It has been a week and two days since my life-changing surgery and I believe I am finally at full potential. I can suck threw a straw. The ache in my lower jaw is non-existant and I can now bend down with an ease...for when I shelve books, of course.
I must admit my jaw feels a little off-center with two teeth removed from the left side only. In order to compensate, I have to tilt my head to the right. It looks funny but feels so right. I am contemplating on making a cool necklace with the teeth. I have two so if anybody would like a matching one, let me know ;)
Cleaning the extraction site over the week has been a pain in the ass. Even though...I didn't really clean it as religiously as I should have...oh well.
Every day I was ordered to take two pills three times a day, rinse with mouth-burning mouthwash twice a day, and rinse with salt water after each meal. ugh.
The pills won't so bad at all. I swallowed em' like a champ. If pill-poppin' was a sport, pretty sure I'd win gold. I am wimp and have had so much practice over the years with beloved Tylenol. Oh yea, we go way back.
The prescribed mouthwash was revolting. It burned and was blue similar to that of toilet water. I felt as if my tongue was slug and the mouthwash was salt. Thank God I'm not a slug. When life gets you down, just think of that. You could always be slug :p
Rinsing with salt water is less that pleasant. I felt as if I was drowning in the ocean each time. Lucky there wasn't any slugs around. I have horrible accuracy while spitting. ha. But all is well for I have no infection in my mouth and it is not letting off any funky smell. I am in the clear.
My final advice on getting wisdom teeth removed: don't do it :)

July 22nd-- The Passion Unleashed: Improv

I have completed my first week of Improv and can fully say that I am in love with every fiber of my being. I have class from Mon to Thurs and all we do the entire time is play games that consist of running around outside, going on make-believe adventures, and yelling profanities at fellow improvisers. I look forward to it everyday and am already going through withdrawals. It is truly the only time I can bring out my inner child free of any censorship. In order to keep these withdrawals under control, I do the next best thing. To feel more like a child I just have my mother push me around in a shopping cart when we purchase various goods from Costco. That will have to keep me sane until Monday.

But in all seriousness, my main reason behind taking this Improv class is because I feel an inexplicable, unseen connection with Ryan Stiles, the god of improvising and one of the many loves in my life. I feel his presence as I act out every scene. I know if I keep up with this we will eventually meet, marry, and produce the biggest nosed children known to man. And I will love every flair their nostrils will have to offer.

The Pulling of the First Wisdom Teeth

Yesterday was possibly the most horrendous day of my life. I not only had my wisdom teeth pulled but my right shoulder is peeling in such a way that only leprosy comes to mind. Gross.
I didn't know whether or not yesterday would have been my last but somehow I survived. I went in that office full of courage and fear but knew I'd come out of there with two less teeth.

My mother insisted that I did not need them pulled. Ever. But my dentist suggested otherwise. I know better. I have seen the movie Cast Away. Obviously, my mother does not remember the horrific scene in that film. Tom Hanks prolonged his little dentist visit and learned the hard way. I, on the other hand, am never knocking my teeth out with a fucking rock. I prefered anesthesia to the fullest extent. If I should ever be stranded on an island, I shall be stranded with my wisdom teeth removed prior. Affirmative.

When I arrived at the clinic of horrors, I asked my questions and they gave me answers that comforted me only temporarily... until they came after me with the needle of doom. They strapped me down as if I was insane, injected me, asked me about Seaside, and then I was gone. I remember falling asleep to the Philipino Surgeon's words, "Were going to have to make an incision on your upper gum." The words echoed off in the distance and only drilling ensued.

I woke up to one of the surgeon's little helpers walking me around. Rude. I had no desire to be moving but we walked up and down the hallway. I was definitely sleepwalking and drooling simultaneously. They sat me back down and I woke up to the sound of drilling the 2nd time. I had, had enough and asked for my mommy. The helper grabbed my mother and we walked back up and down the hallway a 2nd time. I told the little helper she was like my own personal seeing-eye dog only she smelt better. ha. ha.

I was glad to be out of that place and to be drooling in the privacy of my own vehicle. I slept the entire way home and was excited to drink my cola and pop my Vicodin. We must treasure the little perks in life I say and Vicodin is definitely one of them. Two of my white pearls of wisdom are gone. Only two more to go. I'm stocking up on the Vicodin. If accounting doesn't work out for me I'm taking the easy way out and am hustlin' that shit. Rachelle Cochran--Vicodin Queen. Catchy, know.

July 15th Seaside: Homeward Bound

The previous night I basically had the last pick of the straw and was forced to sleep with Diana. I now know why no one had any desire/ inclination to sleep with this sibling…she doesn’t stop MOVING or SNIFFLING or GROANING.
Thank God I suffered from a Chinese food coma that night or falling to sleep would have been impossible. I made sure I slept in until 11:00 am because check out wasn’t until noon.
After we checked out, we ate breakfast at Pign’ Pancake and I was loving life devouring everyone else’s eggs. We then visited my favorite shop, the fudge shop, where I then proceeded to eat half a pound of fudge. A fudge coma soon came over me and we all took an hour nap in the car. Brittany and Kevin went to the hat shop to purchase Kevin his pimp hat (which he now wears everywhere. Even to church this evening). We ate at CAMP 18 where my father had his BBQ Pork sandwich with secret BBQ sauce. Dad found out just how secret it was on the way home. We stopped approximately 5 times for that poor man’s bowels but miraculously made it home around midnight. I love Seaside and all it has to offer. Even the secret BBQ sauce.

July 14th SeaSide: The Journey

Just as I suspected, there was no need for my alarm and I able to experience the unparalleled joy of sleeping in. My family never leaves when my poor mother “plans” to leave. We wanted to ship off no later than nine. We boarded our 14 passenger van, licensed “Da Clan,” an hour and a half later around ten-thirty. Standard.

Of course, prior to leaving, my younger sibling Diana always must make claim on seat territory. This time, she picked her battle with Kevin, loudest screamer in the family. Bad choice for he also happens to be one of mother’s favorites. Diana was supposedly in Kevin’s spot although Kevin wanted to sit in the very back. But Kevin’s feet were in Diana’s face etc. etc. The fight lasted for approximately fifteen minutes and was finally resolved by my poor father. Solution: Have Diana sit in my seat away from the screaming boy.

Within the first 5 minutes of our adventure, my father decides to explain to us how WW III is going to take place and how to survive if the Apocalypse were to occur within our lifetime.
Castro of Cuba has supposedly declared that WW III will be a nuclear catastrophe and that few will survive. My father, who is retired and has time for such research, believes he knows how to survive any situation. One must always keep a time-frame. Here are some survival tips for you all provided by Mr. Cochran.
How long can one survive without food? 3 weeks
How long can one survive without water? 3 days
How long can one survive in freezing water? 30 minutes
How long can one survive without air? 3 minutes

If we were to enter a nuclear war, one must wait approximately two weeks after the initial blast before coming in contact with the air for fear of radiation damage. Radiation damage consists of losing hair, bone erosion, brain reduction, among other various painful side effects. This lecture proceeded on for a good 40 minutes and we reached the conclusion that if we were to run out of food, the Chihuahuas would be our last resort.

Seaside usually only takes about 3 hours to reach from the Eugene area. For some inexplicable reason, we did not make it to Seaside until a whole 8 hours later. Some members of my family have bladders about the size of their brain…Actually, I truly believe that since my father possesses a small bladder, some of my siblings have inherited the same unfortunate trait. I only suffer from SBS (Shy Bladder Syndrome). It’s getting better though. No worries.

Once we arrived, I indulged on enough Chinese food to feed a whole Chinese village and proceeded to live the good life in the Hott tub. I love Seaside.

Home at Last

We made it back from our breif repreive at Seaside. Barely. I counted how many times we stopped on the way home and I totaled five. Further details on why tomorrow. Let's just say Papa Cochran will never be eating the BBQ Pork Burger with the secret Barbeque sauce from the restaurant CAMP 18 ever again. Oh dear.
But I must be brief, for tomorrow I rise for a most horrendous occassion. Tomorrow, I go under the knife and essentially face certain death. Tomorrow, I have my surgery to remove the wisdom teeth on the left side of my face. (Only removing a few at a time for insurance purposes and so I also have something to look forward to for next summer. joy). I am well aware that some people do not survive such surgical procedures but do not fear. I have taken the proper precautions. I've said my good-byes to my loved ones and have gone to confession. I'm ready for this dental battle. May the surgeon win.
Tomorrow, I shall attempt to write about Seaside despite being heavily drugged up. I'm actually hoping I'll be passed out for the entirety of the day. I'll request that actually. If I survive this thing. Fingers crossed. Pray for me.

Dusk Before Beach Adventure

JMJ
This morning I was able to ignore the stings of my scorched epidermis and wake up with a smile on my face for today I was to play the world's greatest game, soccer. Every Tues this summer I have decided to partake in a selfless deed and assist a one-legged elderly man coach the town's middle school team plus a few preschoolers...I'm never having children.
I must admit though, there is nothing more satisfying than being able to dribble with an ease through people half my size until I get schooled...by my own sisters. My younger sisters, a 15 and a 13 year old, are the equivalent to an Amazonian woman and make sure I am aware of that fact on the soccer field and at our loving home.
I no longer dare start any physical altercations with them for the sake of my wellbeing. I know how to survive and make sure I do even if it means swallowing my pride. I usually choke though...

I later went to shelve and restored order one book at a time at the University of Oregon library. I truly do love my job, not only because my ten year-old brother can do it, but because of the people I shelve with. They are my library family. We keep each other sane one day at a time.
We are master book shelvers and struggle to make our job seem important on a daily basis. We never succeed.

The bus ride home was less than enjoyable though...I had to sit by a foul-odored kid...again. The kind of odor that makes you wish you lost your sense of smell from a tragic childhood accident with fire or something. Sweet kid but his clothes need to be introduced to a washer and he himself needs to be introduced to the shower.

Packing for this beach get-away tomorrow at Seaside with the family is beginning to be a pain in the ass. I have packed my blue-poka-dotted underwear and Green Secret deoderant thus far. We'll be there for barely two days and I'm just at a loss. ugh. My brother on the other hand has recently asked to borrow one of my bags to pack some of his junk otherwise known as shit. It's the third bag he plans on bringing. Little does he know I am going to make sure that his skateboard, board games, spy-gear, pocket knives, various flashlights, hair gel, and car collection do not make this journey. bahaha.
I'm looking forward to this little rendevous, this break, this precious "family time." For the trip, my mother thought it would be a good idea to purchase "Soy Bean Trail Mix" whatever the hell that is. I'll be munching on it anyways no doubt because family trips can be stressful and food eases my nerves. These soy beans will have to do. My dad is happy because he found the rest of our "top quality boogey-boards"...in our green house? We can now boogey-board as a family. Thank God. Seaside, watch out, for here come the clan of the Cochs.

The Birth of CochTalk

JMJ
After a total of 27.8 minutes and a whole lot of impatience, I have finally created my own online diary. My own blog. My own...CochTalk. I am leaving my old fairy-diary behind in the dust due to the frequent hand-cramps while writing in it and for the preservation of my delicate hands. Being a hand model still holds a place in my future...somewhere.
It occured to me that if I ever plan on writing a book about my life, memoirs, stupditiy, etc. (a best seller regardless) a blog would not be a bad place to preserve all these precious memories as fascinating as might be.
Today, Monday the 12th of July, I woke up in agony and without any shorts on. Yes, I have become a victim of the 1st degree sunburn. I am on the road to a speedy recovery though. Please keep me in your prayers.
The best part about this morning after waking up and eating my usual eggs and ham in a state of euphoria, was then having my loving father approach from behind while administering his little back massage of love...and pain. Who says love isn't pain? I then proceeded to make a little gruntle moaning, "Aw, dad how sweet but I'm a tad burnt."
"Oh...so this hurts?"
"Yes. Dad. Allow me to be blunt. Stop."
Shelving books was a struggle but for a girl with my unfortunate, limited stature it usually is. The stools are so degrading and I refuse to utilize them (The broken shelf in the PN section is a result of that decision).
I could barely lift my burnt arms though but I managed. I cannot let the loyal patrons of the University library down. With each book, I hold eduation in the palm of my hands, and the library's legacy must live on. Every book must be shelved. No exceptions. I take my job seriously one could say. SMSP for life. (Planning on having that tatooed above my ass-crack. When I bend down to shelve a book, people will know where I gained my experience.) We manage them stacks.
Later, I babysat, bought groceries with pops, practiced piano for about five minutes, took a suana where I proceeded to "sweat like a pig" as papa Cochran would say and now I am here starting something new in my life and loving it. Blogging. So it Begins.