Sometimes vaginas just get up and leave.

The Miss Cleo mystery has been solved. Who's Miss Cleo, you ask. You might remember her from episodes such as "Ringworms, Roundworms, what's the difference?" and "Devious dawgs and sleeping squirrles (the remix edition)." Ok, so since you don't, she's the cat that I fell in love with almost 2 years ago down in Florida who disappeared mysteriously while I was gone on vacation. Weeks later, Bob the tractor man revealed that a dog got a hold of her and then she ran off to die.

What you didn't hear is what I heard last night. I went out with my boy Adam who got drunk and slipped up. "Yeah, Nev, it was like that time in Florida when I back my Explorer up after it had been sittin in the field for a week and found Miss Cleo's swollen corpse...." My jaw dropped. "What are you talkin about?!" "What, Nev, you didn't know? I thought we told you. You didn't know? Oh shit."

Turns out that Miss Cleo got attacked and then a few days later (while I was still on vacation) Adam discovered her. I had told him to take care of her, that he was responsible for her, and to feed her. Apparently he forgot to feed her for two days so when he found her body, he thought he had killed her. What would be the most logical thing to do when you find a dead cat? Get a shovel, scoop it up, and drive it to the nearest swamp so it can be gator food would be the correct answer to that question.

Fuuuuuuuuuck Robert.

The Big DAY

Today's the day every girl dreams about. It's the Oscars!!!

Ryan Seacrest will hopefully suffer some sort of tracheal damage that will no longer allow him to be a tv host person. Ever. Again.

Go watch the red carpet.

I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way

Tonite we rocked out the Catie Curtis concert. Me, my sister, and the Dad-ster. We 'pre-gamed' at the bar before we went in. I was just mindin my own business, sittin in-between my dad and sister, drinkin a budlight, shootin the shit (aka watchin sportscenter while they rambled about stuff). Low and behold, I got offered a shot--a yager bomb (yum...yum....gag). Was it from my beloved Blake Shelton? That's a negatory. A group of lesbians got me to join in on their yager bombs. Not just once, but twice. Jelena told Sprout (real name Heather but goes by Sprout) about it when she came in the bar and Sprout goes, "Yeah, no kidding with that shirt you've got on." I looked down really confused at my cute but not slutty top. "Oh God! I'm a whore, and I don't even know it!"

So lesbians I can get to randomly buy me drinks at a bar. Boys, I chase them away with charitable notions and discussions about homeless people.

I obviously got teased that maybe I was a lesbian. I'm not. That led to my dad saying something along the lines of the fact that my identity is pretty well defined (kinda like my biceps). I think people tend to see me as somebody who's very comfortable in my own skin. I am. I think, in most aspects, I'm fairly confident. Not everybody is. I like talking to people and being goofy and enjoying my life. I guess I'm just an outgoing person who tries not to worry too much about things that are out of my control (sometimes it's hard, though).

People have said things to me recently that make me think that my personality is one that draws people in. The thing that bothers me is that most people aren't as perceptive as my roomate Tess. Within 2 days of knowing me she pointed out that there are two totally different Nevena's--the goofy one and the serious one. I thought about that for a while, and I've come to the conclusion that it's completely true. Everybody has layers to their personality; I know I'm not any different. It just seems like the goofy side of me is what people like. So I tend not to let my serious side come out that much because I just want folks to have a good time. But it's hard to feel like I know somebody if I don't act serious around them every once in a while. Not everybody enjoys 'Serious Nevena' (ask the boys from the bar). And if I'm tired or just feeling introvert so I just want to chill in the background, everybody asks me whats wrong. Sometimes it's exhausting trying to be entertaining when all I want to do is be quiet. I guess it's just scary to think that people might only like the fun side of me. That guys will approach me because they think I'm one way, but turn out to be different. What really bothers me the most is that I feel like when I'm serious I totally put myself out there, but so many people are scared to make themselves vulnerable in the same way.

Hard lessons learned

We decided to have an "After-Valentine's Day Come Down Fiesta." Valentine's day is lame (I said that last year while I was in a relationship so don't chalk me up to some bitter old spinster). It just is. Do we really need some random day out of the year where everybody wears red and buys each other tacky, expensive jewelry? Don't we already have Christmas? My girl Tess would disagree, but she's what you would call a "romantic."

Anyway, back to the good stuff. After Valentine's Day Come Down Fiesta. Great. It envolved a bonfire (I always called them bombfires when I was little...) and a bag full of ex-boyfriend paraphanalia. Not the recent ex....the high school/early college years ex. And boy howdy, was he a shit ass and a half. We discovered the bag at my mom's house this past weekend and it had some entertainin pictures and a few notes in it. Nothin x-rated now, I'm not that kind of girl.....

The burning of the junk wasn't a mad-as-hell-Waitin-To-Exhale-Deleted-Scene. It was just a way to get rid of junk. I don't have any feelings for the poor fella either way. But I do have some funny ass stories.

My freshman year of college, I went to Indiana University. He was a high school senior on the wrestling team. I drove 7 hours to go watch his regional match/meet/what the hell ever. We were leanin up against the railing watching the match goin on below us. He had his arm drapped around me. And there walked by this girl who went to school with him and worked at the local plastic surgery clinic. She worked there to pay off her fake boobies (yeah, I just said boobies). He followed her chest with her eyes and day-dreamingly said, "Dang, you just can't help but look at those."

And I let that diamond in the ruff get away....Bummer.

Excitement Central

So I just saw two Northern Flickers (birds) doing a courtship dance. I was totally bummed that they flew away to do their little cloacal kiss in private.

Pig Latin

Today's my mom's birthday. Happy Birthday! She doesn't read this, but I figured it wouldn't hurt...

Yesterday me and my roomates drove up to Atlanta and then rode the rest of the way to Rome with my sister. We celebrated my mom's birthday. I made some of my apparently famous lasanga (there's even been a song about it). And I just want to take this opportunity to apologize for constantly refering to it as "la-sag-na" lately. It was just a phase, and I'm over it now. Thank you very much. And have a good day.

A little less talk and a lot more action

Me and Mandy went to see Blake Shelton play at Wild Bills last night. Wild Bills is this huge ass country bar in hot-LANTA. Anyway, we pulled into the parking lot and neither one of us had been there before and didn't realize that it was valet parking only. "Hell no, I don't need some guy to park my car for me," I told her. So when the guy came up to the window, I told him I didn't think he could handle my stick and then I drove off. I guess to clarify things, my car is a stick-shift.

So we went inside the bar and met up with my sister and a couple of her friends. That place is insanely huge. The openers eventually came on and they were pretty good. And then Blake Shelton came on. Are you ready for the most exciting part?!?! We had a table close to the bar and were a little ways off from the stage but we still had a good view. And during one of his songs, he was lookin our direction so we started pointing at him, and he pointed back!!!! Yeah, he totally wanted to understand the inner tickings of my soul. I know it. Ok, maybe not. But a girl can dream, right?

On the way to the concert, we stopped at the gas station. My car still has paint on it from the Peach Bowl. And this mid-40s guy struck up a conversation with my from the adjacent pump. I figured he was just a friendly, older bulldawg fan just shootin the breeze. Um, no. He started tellin me about his tree-cutting business and how he makes a good amount of money. He doesn't climb the trees anymore, he just mans the phone. He even sells cars on the side to make extra money. And as I was walkin by his truck to go inside, he stoped me and pulled out his wallet and showed me all the cash he had in it. He handed me his business card and told me if I ever saw a dead tree (and I'd know one if I saw one, he explained, it just looks dead), he'd give me 20% of what he got for cutting it.

So which one do I go for? Blake Shelton? Or Tree Cutter?

To spice up my coolness factor in your eyes, let me tell you yet another story. Kara is in charge of the Native American site for the Native American class we teach. Part of the class is using oyster shells to scrap on a dug-out canoe. And you occassionally have to burn the top part of the canoe that the kids dig out. So I went out in the woods and helped her do that. We got that whole thing on fire and it was awesome because it was freezing out. When we got the fire out, we cleared the log off. And then I grabbed a stick and Kara asked if I was going to write my name in the burnt part. I hadn't thought about it before, but decided it was a good idea. So I start carvin my name. 'N' 'e' 'v' 'e' 'a' "Um, Nevena, aren't you missing a letter there??" "Oh, shit Kara, you're right!" Yeah, I mis-spelled my own name.

"Dress sexy and shut up. That's my motto." -Rosario from Will&Grace

Yesterday, unlike what many people might think, was not Valentine's Day. It was Mandy's birthday. Damn skippy. We went salsa dancin again. I could go into a whole shpeel about how the fact that my partner actually led me and knew what he was doin allowed me to just go with it and have fun, and then somehow relate that to relationships, but, well, no.

We stopped by open-mike night at a bar last night too. One of the guys we work with was singin so we figured we'd swing by and support him. This older (mid 60s) guy came in. He looked homeless. Mandy asked him to come sit with us. His name was Alvin. About 20 minutes later, Mandy was draggin me up the stairs to go get another shot and we bumbed into old Alvin. She grabbed him by the hand and said, "Come on! You're gonna have a shot with us." So I bought a round of Sex on the Beach. Alvin drank it like a pro.

What would you think if a girl ran up to you, squeezed your cheeks (face cheeks there) because you may or may not look like a teddy bear, leaned in and said, 'I think you're cute!' and then ran off? Give me some slack. It was Mandy's birthday. And the girl loves her some shots. So I had to drink with her. And the salsa instructor looks like a teddy bear. God bless, I can't ever go salsa dancing again.

I guess that's what happens when you're a blunt person. It's not hard for me to be honest about what I think because I think I'm totally fake if I'm not honest. And I don't do fake. What's hard is being so blunt in a world where most folks are too scared to express the same level of honesty. I tend to take people at their word (unless I think they're full of it), so when you say "quack" to me it's "quack" even if you meant "ruff ruff." And that gets me into trouble sometimes. And that makes me mad.

My fishin buddy

Last night, I made my very own pyramid in the pale moonlight. I peed outside multiple times. I woke up this morning and I was scared to move because I thought I might be really hung over. Lucky for me, I wasn't.

So me and Mandy went fishing. And by fishing, I mean we cast inbetween conversations. It's too cold for those crazy fish.

Ok, Little John and Mandy are break dancin to that song that goes "I've got the right temperature to shelter you from the storm." This is hilarious. We've been gettin over-run by 4-H'ers on the weekends and they finally left so we're jammin out.

Last Monday was Adam's birthday. I remembered on Friday. I'm a great friend, I know. So Boss came to Athens last weekend to celebrate. Me and the girls kidnapped him and took him to bars. It was some good times.

Lost was awesome. I love that show. People who are no longer my friends say that it's weird, and it doesn't make any sense that a polar bear was on a tropical island. You know what I have for them? A fist-full of kiss my ass.

On Friday we went to Athens all day. We did the high ropes course at UGA. I didn't think I'd be as scared as I was because I'm pretty good with heights. I have no idea what I said to the guy on top of the zip line. And I baby-stepped across the catwalk. And the last high ropes thing we did is this thing called the Pamper Pole. It's like a telephone pole with staples sticking out that you climb up like a ladder. And then, when you get to the top, you're suppose to stand up. Ok, imagine climbing a telephone pole and having to stand on top of it without having anything to hold onto while you're trying to stand up. And the pole is swaying back and forth because it's not that sturdy. And when you get to a standing position, you jump off and try to hit this bell about 10 feet away dangling from a tree. I took my time. I even spit off the pole once I got to the top. But by God, I stood up on that bitch. I missed the bell, but I wasn't really worried about it. I stood up. And that was my goal.

That's all I've got for right now.

Observations from the inside of a john

You know how in bathroom stalls there are hinges on the doors (see? handy!)? Well, apparently there's a special brand of hinges just for bathroom stalls and they're called Hiney Hiders. I love it.

On the brink

Imagine sitting in a room. For 13 hours. Listening to someone lecture to you. For 13 hours. The topic is something you've heard about plenty of times before. And it's not complicated. Once again, 13 hours. Just picture it in your head for a second. And you will come close to understanding how easily it will be for me to smack the next person who wants to tell me anything else tonight.

Count down

Lost comes on in in 28 hours and 33 minutes.

I'm losing my mind, I swear

So apparently the theme of my life lately is clumsiness. I'm a total klutz. Last week, in a drunken stupor, one of the guys I worked with picked me up, lost his balance, and dropped me on the corner of the (wooden) armrest of the couch. The dark purple, hand-sized bruise is just now starting to fade. A couple days ago, we were playing this game (we play lots of games here at work....they're examples for kids. Awesome.) where you run back and forth across the room. The room is painted like a forest--pretty camoflague with all sorts of greens and trees everywhere. There's also a thermostat in the room, but it's covered with a clear plastic box so little kids can't turn the temperature up to 102 or whatever. And the clear plastic is also really good when you're hauling ass across the room at full speed and your face happens to collide with the box. And finally, yesterday I dropped a canoe flat on my finger. I seriously smashed my finger hard core. It might not sound all that bad, but it hurt like hell. I'm battered and bruised. But I'm still a badass bitch (or BAB).

Whistlepig says "STOP."

So apparently winter is suppose to end early this year. Over the break, it was like 70 degrees for 3 weeks straight. And now it's approximately negative 34. I'm pretty excited about it. So, anyway, the early daffodils bloomed a few weeks back and I took these pictures when we hiked up to the House of Dream.



Daffodils are the prettiest flower in the whole world, don'tchya think? Awesome.

Butters ate Harry Cooter's Tail

There's a species of turtle called the Eastern River Cooter. Go ahead. Laugh. You know you want to. I do. Anyway, we have one here at the Rock that we use when we teach Herpetology (the study of reptiles and amphibians). So a few years back they had a naming contest for the Eastern River Cooter. And some really smart person decided to call it Harry. And on the side his bucket that you bring in the classroom it says "Harry Cooter."

We're going through staff training right now. Basically, somebody is teaching us all the classes we teach the kids when they come. Fun, I know. The other day we were doing herpetology. And somebody noticed that Harry's tail was missing some flesh and asked what happened. "Butters ate Harry Cooter's tail." (Butters is a yellow-bellied pond slider)

Nobody puts Baby in the corner

For Christmas last year, my mom gave me the Sex and the City inspired book, He's Just Not That Into You. At that point, I was happily in a relationship so I was slightly offended but tried not to let it show. I blew the dust off the cover a few months ago during a time of need. It was blunt and straight up, so I loved it. Those of you who are quick to jump to conclusions (first, get a jump to conclusions mat and then) understand that I believe women are just as capable as men, think they should do whatever men can do (well, except be in direct combat...but that's a controversy for another day...watch GI Jane to get my point of view on that), and should get paid equally if not better than men. Ok, now that that's out of the way. Back to the book. The whole gist of the book is that if a man really wants something, he'll try to get it. A man doesn't "not come up and book the next date" (Sex and the City episode) if he's really into you, and it doesn't matter if he has an early meeting the next morning. If you meet a guy at a bar, and you really like him and he doesn't ask for your number, he's just not that into you. Don't bother giving him your number because if he wants it, he'll ask. If he doesn't ask, he doesn't want it. Apparently the poor Manhattan-quartet wasted 20 years of dating by analyzing mixed-messages. And the truth was, whatever shmuck they were agonzingly, painstaking analyzing just weren't that into them. Simple as that. Where I am going with this?

Last night, we went Salsa dancing. I've always wanted to go and finally went. And it was a blast. The first hour or so was a lesson. Me and my friends only brought 2 boys with us so I started dancing with Megan (that may actually be a good way to get guys at a bar to talk to you but not the kind of guys I would ever be interested in). But we were just learning the basics, so it was no big deal. They finally opened up the floor after the lesson was over. I was once-again dancing with Megan because 1) I don't give a shit about meeting a guy at a bar 2) We were trying to practice the moves 3) She's hot. And some nice fella walked up and asked if one of us wanted to dance. Megan said no, so I said ok. It takes balls to walk up to a girl at a bar if you're not drunk. He was a nice guy. But unsure of himself on the dance floor. It made my dancing stutter a little bit. We had fun. And then I danced with one of the guys we brought. And he just went with it. We just danced to the music (don't get that song stuck in your head now). We didn't try to figure out all the steps they had taught us during the lesson. We just danced. I had no problem letting him lead. And I quit laughing like I had with the other guy. And I actually felt like I was dancing pretty good.

On the drive back, I thought about it. The first guy, who I had a good time with but didn't really get into it that much, was nervous and not sure of his footing but did the steps we learned during the lesson. The second guy embellished the steps a little, just went with it, and I had a blast. He knew exactly what he wanted to do and did it, even if he wasn't exactly sure of the steps. I know the whole 'dancing is like a relationship' metaphor has been made a million times, but it was different actually experiencing it.