Last Time on The Cheshire Cat's Out of the Bag...

…we left our heroine battling a giant sea-panther with only a conk-spear and her natural charisma. 

Okay, not really, but here are some updates that I meant to give earlier.  I’m sorry I didn’t let you know about them sooner, but I either got busy, wrote a different post, or just plain forgot.

First, with regards to Jet, I have joyous news.  In case you don’t remember Jet, he is the psychotic dog who declared war on me and my clothes.

After a long a tedious battle —with many casualties—Jet finally made a fatal mistake that cost him the war. 

When I first arrived at this apartment, the living room area was devoid of all signs of life.  No posters.  No paintings.  No wall art.  No photographs.  No throw pillows.  No curtains.  Absolutely nothing.

Well, I convinced Jet’s owner, Jasmine, that it would be best if our apartment had some personality; so, we went 50/50 on decorations for the apartment.  One of those decorations happened to be floor length hanging curtains.

As the window, and thus the curtains, are near my room door, Jet mistaked the curtains for one of my possessions and peed on them.  This happened to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Jasmine, tired of Jet’s pee escapades, sent him back home.

Viva la Tiffany.  Suck it Jet.

The second and final update that I have pertains to Skittles Vodka.

After making the Skittles Vodka, I decided that I was going to taste the rainbow.  I got five different shot glasses and filled each with a different color.  I then began.

I downed them in order red, orange, yellow, green, and then purple. 

After shooting red, I had to continue with the rest quickly, or I wouldn’t have had the strength to continue.  They were AWFUL.

Red = Robitussin

Orange = Ipecac with an Orangy-Zest

Yellow = Lemon Dish Soap (Yes, I’ve had my mouth washed out before)

Green = Pine-Sol

Purple = Grape Cough Syrup

So even though they predominately tasted like medicine and/or cleaning products, the only effects they had were upsetting my stomach and then making me feel disgusted and dirty.

How to Ruin Someone Else's Day While Still Providing Amusement

Today, I decided to go onto my balcony area and relax.    I took a good book and intended to read and get some sun.  This isn’t what happened.  Instead, I had to vacate the balcony in a fit of giggles and odorous vapors.

Here is the set up.

I live on the third floor of my apartment complex which is beside a marshy pond area and a huge farm—and my room is the one on the corner, so from my balcony, I have an uninhibited view.  It’s one of the best views in Columbia—at least I think so.

Today was a B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L day.  Not too hot.  Not too cold.  Not too windy.  Not too humid.  Gorgeous.  So who wouldn’t want to go out onto the balcony and enjoy the day with a good book?

Now, it’s a good thing that I have a sense of humor, or I might have been slightly upset by the disturbance to my relaxation.  Instead, I couldn’t stop laughing.

After sprawling myself out on one of the chairs outside, I began reading my book.

Then, just as I got comfortable, I heard someone from the room under me come outside onto his/her balcony.

*face blurred to protect my unknown neighbor*

I’m not stingy.  I don’t mind sharing my perfect day with another person.  However, that was until I learned the downstairs neighbor’s intent.  As soon as I heard their balcony door close, they let one rip.  I guess they didn’t realize I was upstairs.

Now let me explain.  It wasn’t just a small toot.  Oh, no.  It was a horrible, wet, squishy fart.

I tried to suppress my laughter—as the person downstairs obviously went out onto the balcony to hide the fart from his/her roommates; however, when the toxic fumes reached me, I could barely contain it.

I ran back inside my apartment and fell onto the floor in a fit of giggles.  I really hope the person downstairs didn’t hear my laughter, but I tend to laugh whole-heartedly.  As people who know will attest, my laughter can get extremely loud and out of control. 

And this was one of those occasions.

I’m sorry downstairs neighbor—but even though you destroyed my plans for the day, you also made my day with your impromptu fart.  Therefore—thank you... I guess.

Horse Necrophilia

For the last couple of months, before I was accepted in the graduate program at USC, I temporarily got a job at an insurance investigation company.  Just saying that I worked for investigators made me feel like I had just stepped into a James Bond movie.

Avant.  Tiffany Avant.

So, on my first day of worked, I was super pumped.  I dressed quickly and even did a dramatic slide over the hood of my car before jumping inside and speeding off to work.

For the entire drive to work, I had the song “Secret Agent Man” stuck in my head.  But I couldn’t help it.  In my mind… I was a spy.

It wasn’t until I got to my new job that I had my illusion completely destroyed.

Now just for reference.  My dad’s side of the family is very, very rednecky.  So much so that Jeff Foxworthy is their idea of high society.  At any of our family reunions, there is usually one guy (not necessarily the same guy every time) who isn’t related to anyone, but somehow got invited. 

This guy, the one without teeth, who is drinking beer from a tea pitcher, will then decide that you are the hottest thing since Cindy Crawford.  From there on out, its very hands on.  He starts touching you inappropriately while laughing at his own perverted jokes.

Feeling uncomfortable yet?

Well, this investigation company was very much like that guy-- working there made me feel as if I was about to get physically and mentally raped.

After training at the corporate office, I thought I was prepared for anything.

For this job, I was responsible for managing the investigators.  It was going to be my job to make sure that they turned in their notes on time—since they didn’t seem to be capable of doing that, even though they’d been lectured about punctuality on numerous occasions.

So, after a couple of days of notelessness from one of the investigators, I sent him an email that went something like this:

I know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times, and I don’t really want to beat a dead horse about this; however, I really need for you to turn your notes in on time.  I can’t finish my work without those notes.  So please email them to me as soon as you can.  Thanks.

Now I didn’t think anything about this email after I sent it, but apparently I underestimated the ignorance level/redneckyness of my new job and co-workers.

The very next day, my boss pulls me aside and informs me that it is inappropriate for me to say that one of the investigators is having sex with dead horses.

WHAT?!?!

It was then that I knew I had to quit.

The investigator, somehow, got it into his head that I was accusing him of fucking dead horses. 

I just wanted his notes and instead got the strangest office protocol lecture in the history of office protocol lectures.

So much for being a super sexy agent in a 007 film.