Marvin the Martian, Strikes again!

Now this story happened probably a year ago, but, it is SO worth telling!

Once upon a time when leaving work one day, I had decided go to to the book store and look for a gift for my love muffin Scott. I am meandering down the aisles looking for something he'd read, when I hear the psycho theme ringing on my phone. This is thee signature ring I have dawned to my mother. I hesistantly answered the phone, "Helllooo?"

She answers with a sullen "Mycah, Mycah...do you own any Marvin the Martian underwear?"

Obviously I am thinking "why in the hell is she asking such a question?" but I rack my brain anyways, and try and remember the inventory of underwear I have or once had in my entire life span. But of course of all the underwear I can't recall ever owning Marvin the Martian. So I answer her with a "Erm...no I dont think so why?"

She answers ever so angrily "I found Marvin the Martian underwear in your fathers laundry, I just knew he was cheating. I just KNEW IT!"

Excuse me but what are you supposed to say to that?! I mean come on. 1st: What 50 year old woman that my father may be with would wear Marvin the Martian underwear?!? 2nd: I say it again, WHAT 50 Year old WOMAN WOULD WEAR Marvin the Martian!? 3rd: I do live in that house and our laundry could get mixed so are we REALLY having this conversation right now in the seriousness that your having right now? UGH!

I reply with another "Uhm, I am sorry?" She starts bawling and then hangs up the phone. So I've lost motivation from the mere shock of this all and decide to head home. On my way home I keep racking my brain about the infamous Marvin the Martian underwear. I think and think, then it dawns on me! "HOLY CRAP....I DO have Marvin the Martian underwear! I havent worn it since Junior high!" (why do I still have underwear from Junior High? Just please dont ask, it still escapes me completely as to why)

So, with this new epiphany I try and do the noble thing and call my mom back and tell her this breaking news! I call her and she doesn't believe me! SHE DOESN'T BELIEVE ME! She replied with a rude "You are just trying to cover for your father" and hung up on me!

My mother, hung up on me! RUDE! Not wanting to be hung up on again I was reduced to describing the underwear to the best of my knowledge through text. Describing the placements of the Martian, what he was doing in some of the drawings, the SIZE of the underwear... The things I do to save my pin head father from the wrath of Kahn just makes me crazy sometimes.

Anyways, she never believed me but ended up forgetting about it completely (after a year!)

So, that was one story of my life. Explain my sanity at all?!

Why..oh why

Another adventure in the life of...well me

This one is a small adventure but quite vexing still. I have the fortune of having lovely Tuesdays off of work. On my Tuesday morning of laundry and cleaning my father called me to say "Hey Mycah, could you do me a favor. 1st give your dog a kiss on the head for me (trying to butter me up for the next question!) and 2nd, to save me from having to clock out from work again and come home could you go bother your brother for the money he owes his lawyer and come bring it to me at work?"

"Erm...I guess so."

"Okay thanks!"

I then drag my butt upstairs and knock on his door. Knock KNOCK knock! I am met with silence for about 1 minute then I hear a gargled "huHhh?"

I reply with a "Dad wants me to get money from you that your supposed to give to your lawyer."

He stumbles to the door, opens it, and through the slits of his half opened, blood shot, red swollen eyes says "Ohh I am tiired." He then walks down the hallway and stumbles to the right, then stumbles to the left, leans against the railway, then as the chariots of fire plays loudly he makes it to the bird room, (hallelujah!) where his money is apparently stashed.

I then sit there, and wait, and wait. 10 minutes goes by. Oh look there goes 20 minutes. Oh looky loo 30 minutes has arrived, now I am impatient. I kinda hear what sounds like he just passed out and hit his head. I then scream "Do you have that money for your lawyer yet!?"

Again, in his slurry stumbly speech he says "oh, yeah let me get it." He walks out with 2 envelopes..oh sorry not walks, STUMBLES. It then takes him I dont even know how long, to lick one of the envelopes and then give it to me. I grab them from him trying my best to not act annoyed and say "Now you can go back to bed!" *cheesy fake grin here*

I start walking to my car and out of nowhere he says "Oh! do you want some gum?"

"Uh, not really after all my dental work no...but uhm thanks!"

THE END

not very riveting but UGH I can't stand him.

To my mom the Minotaur

First off, I must say that I admire your courage. It must be hard living in the world today as a lady-beast. Society judges, oh lord do they ever.

With that said, let's get down to business. Over the years, we've had a funny sort of relationship, you and I. You, always in your flushable office, and me, well, I am your child. There comes days when I hear the sounds of when you've exited your throne. What do I hear you ask? They are the sounds of your hooves galloping across the hardwood floors of the upstairs. At times I think "No big deal, surely it can't always be like this." Oh was I wrong. It turns out that every time I am home, you decide its time to exit the throne room and stomp around, like the wild lady-beast that you are.

After pondering for a few weeks, I determined through a process of elimination that you are in fact, a Minotaur. It only makes sense.

FACT: Minotaurs have hooves, and that's sure as hell what it sounds like is hitting the floor when you gallop around.

FACT: A minotaur posses great strength, the kind of strength that can be felt by a girl laying on her couch trying to get into a good book. The kind of strength that shakes the dishes. The kind of strength that can wake a girl out of a dead sleep, EVERY MORNING. I didnt even need to set an alarm clock to wake up in the morning. Instead I wake up to THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. I'm not a deep sleeper by any means but I'd think it would be easier to sleep through viscously loud police, fire trucks, and ambulance sirens every night than it is to sleep through the stomping. I was lying there one morning, frustrated, counting the trips you took between your bedroom and the kitchen. 17. 17 god forsaken trips between the bedroom and the kitchen. Really? Are you kidding me? What could you possibly be doing?

FACT: Minotaurs are half bull. Bulls are aggressive when taunted. Apparently the time I went upstairs and politely made a comment about your walking, was a taunt. Thats when you got aggressive. (then again I think your always in aggressive mode.) You told my father that I was complaining about your noise.

After a few more weeks of you recklessly stomping around. I made another attempt at a civil confrontation. It failed. It failed because you stomped your way to your bedroom door, and you didnt open it cause you knew it was me. I know this because I heard your hooves clippity-clop their way to the door. Way to avoid confrontation.

Please for the love of sweet baby jesus, run down the local Target and purchase yourself a pair of hoof mufflers. I know you can run with those strong legs of yours, probably real fast! Target downtown is all of 10 miles away. Go Minotaur, go! Overcome the odds, society is watching (and judging)

A day in the life of Mycah

Hello ladies and gentlemen,

So, I come home yesterday get all settled in lay in my bed and get ready to take a most deserved nap, WHEN! I hear the equivalent to a minotaur and maybe a centaur running down the stairs only to soon hear a rata tat tat on my bedroom door. My brother (the minotaur) peaks his head in and asks "Hey, Mycah can I show my friend your artwork?"

"Uh, I guess so." I replied with haste. I gave him my artbook and followed them to a different room to supervise this looky loo at my artwork. His "friend" is maybe 57 and not all there in the head. (Maybe from too many drugs! but maybe I am just assuming *cough*) As he looks through my artbook he is eating an apple and, let me just say, not everything stays in his mouth while he talks. So I watched in fear, waiting for some saliva/apple combination to just land upon my work.

While I stood and watched in fear I think he was rambling on about van gogh and about how my artwork resembled something from the magazine High Times. Who would think a man of his caliber would read High Times! anyways, my brother the meanwhile twitch's, shakes, and stutters in the background about :

"Oh my sister is just awesome, hey I got a tattoo at Convicted ink wanna see? (by the way not that good I couldnt even tell what was new tattoo and old tattoo) I can get you 1 karat diamonds for free cause I have connections."

All in that order and all at once! He's so sober its ridiculous! Anyways this goes on for what feels like a week. Then they finally leave. Now...This is not the end of the adventure that is my brother and the things I am subjected to on a daily basis. Me and Scott are downstairs watching Dog the Bounty hunter (tragic fore-shadowing) when we hear a pounding on the door. Now the time is like 9 p.m. and I highly doubt anyone from the neighborhood is just stopping bye at 9 to give us cookies. So we wait a little just to see if the door pounding goes away. It doesn't. It gets progressively louder. So Scott says "Look, I'll go upstairs with you if you answer that door." So we head upstairs.

I open the door and there stands 2 police officers! (MY LIFE IS SO AWESOME!) The lovely police officers started off with "Do you know where Brett is?!"

I reply with a "Uh no, I never know where he is."

"Are you his sister?!" he asks.

Still confused about the situation I replied with a hesistant "Uh yeah."

He turns to Scott, who is now shutting the door after letting them in and asks "And who are you the boyfriend?" Scott replies with "actually, I am the fiance." I dont get why he cares about who I am and who Scott is but oh well. He then proceeds to ask "Where is Brett? Does he live here?"

I reply with a lovely, "I dont know where he is. He disappears for days and is here other days. I dont keep track of him."

"Do you think he's out partying and using?" He asks.

I say with a most definite "Yes, I do think he is using." Now at this point my mom has decided to exit the comfort of her porceline throne room and stick her head out of her bedroom door upstairs. Now, here is a visual: She has turned off her bedroom light and is using the door to shield her body, from what I do not know. So all you see is a faint bobble head that somewhat resembles my moms face poking out of the small crack in the door. She yell's "Who's down there?!?!"

"Its Randy"

"Randy who?!"

"Randy, your son's parole officer"

"You are not allowed in our house without a warrant!" she says with such ignorant conviction.

"Ma'am if Brett lives here we don't need a search warrant to come into your home whenever we like. And unless you want your house to be searched he shouldn't live here."

She replied rudEly with "We'll see!" (can I ask...what the heck does that mean?!)

He replies right back to my snotty mother with a, "I will make sure he doesn't live here and he will have a curfew and a GPS system so we know where he is or he will go to jail."

Again she replies with a "We'll see!" (again...what?!)

He then turns back to me and Scott, pulls out a card and starts writing on it and says "Will you please tell your brother if he does not contact me by tomorrow he is going to jail." He then hands me his parole officer business card with a note that says "Brett, call me -Randy"

I take it, and with a cheerful voice I reply with "I Sure will." :-D

They then leave. And me and Scott live happily ever after!......
Who only knows what is going to happen to us next.

-The End