I apologize for the extreme time between my last post and this one. I have been extremely busy hoarding cardboard boxes, watching Duck Dynasty, and spending hours at Walmart. For some reason, every time I get paid, all I wanna do is go to Walmart. I wanna buy $1 candles, cheap ass DVDs, crayons, and hoard cleaning products. Oh lord, I love me some wally world. The irony of hoarding cleaning products is that I only clean when I'm mad. Which is rare. So right now there's piles of books everywhere, half packed cardboard boxes in the kitchen. An entire corner of the kitchen is so filled with empty cans, I can't remember if I put bags there first. I come home every day from work and think, tonight I will clean. And then I set reminders for My Crazy Obsession and suddenly my pants fall off, a cigarette lights itself, and my butt gets stuck to the couch.
It's a tough life.

Anyway, these past two months I've become addicted to reading dystopian fiction. It started with The Hunger Games, and hasn't stopped. And it got me to thinking about what I would do if the world turned upside down. I think of myself as a free, independent thinker who can live quite happily without a phone or internet. But if North Korea's rocket gets set off and crashes "randomly" in the U.S., or Iran gets cocky with their "experiments" I will truly be fucked. And if I do happen to survive past the first few days while my body goes through extreme withdrawal from energy drinks, I will not last much longer. I cannot hunt, I cannot tell which plants are edible and which will kill me in an instant. I will eat only grass. I cannot defend myself in any way, and my dog is just as useless.

I think back to the time Mitch, Tim, Erika, and I had to run for our lives from a pack of rowdy wolves. We had to run for like 2 minutes straight, hop in the jeep, and get the fuck out of there. But after a minute of running I honestly thought FUCK IT. LET THESE WOLVES TEAR ME TO PIECES AS LONG AS I DON'T HAVE TO RUN ANYMORE. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that no one knew Tony's favorite dog treats, and Mitch wouldn't know where I put anything in our apartment. Also I had to pee.

If I can't even run from real danger, like the threat of a wolf ripping my arm off and eating it, how on earth will I survive if a dystopian society ever came about.

All these books I've been reading have these strong female leads, who consider themselves weak until faced with danger in which they become strong enough to fight off three communists at once, and leap from building to building. Honestly, I was exhausted just reading the books.

Last night I watched Piers Morgan and learned of the captain who went nuts and ran around the plane screaming about Iraq and bombs. 7 passengers took him the fuck down and the co-pilot made an emergency landing. Oprah asked me if I thought, in a situation like that, that I would be one of the people who would take down the danger and save lives. The answer is no. I would be the one either reading a book and oblivious to everything happening, or convinced I was already dead and was figuring out where I hid Tony's birth certificate and who I should call about it.

Basically I have come to the conclusion, that much like black men in horror movies, I will die first in any situation.

Anyway, I have a horrible headache, and should go clean.

....hahahahahahahahaha. yeah right.

As a paranoid parrot, I sometimes question my interest in everything paranormal. Or perhaps by being a paranoid parrot I am simply more aware of the horrors in this world. And by horrors I mean the Cloverfield monster and possible alien attacks. Sometimes I'm sure the creators of paranoid parrot in fact fashioned the entire meme after me. I remember two summers ago when Mary and I were drinking in our special spot downtown when we witnessed an explosion and all the lights downtown went out. I braced myself for the statue of liberty head to come falling to the ground. Then I realized I was in Calgary, and waited for the top of the Calgary Tower to come flying out of nowhere. When that didn't happen I texted everyone I knew and warned them of a possible Cloverfield attack and then called my mom to tell her goodbye.

Turns out it was just an electricity box that blew.

And then when the same thing happened in Edmonton a few months ago. I instantly thought WHY DO I NOT OWN A VIDEO CAMERA?! And, STAY AWAY FROM THE UNDERGROUND TRAIN STATIONS.

Turns out, that was also just an electricity box.

I curse my parents for encouraging an over active imagination in an only child who always lived in big dark basements. And then allowing me at the age of 11 to go off and watch whatever horror movie I pleased. And also for making me watch Birds at 9 years old, forever encasing me in a phobia of all birds, mostly crows, and for letting me go over to my much more mature friend's house at 6 and view Jaws for the first time. THAT BLOOD LOOKED SO REAL. I didn't step into a swimming pool after that until age 12. (For some reason I thought sharks could live quite comfortable in chlorinated water). Hence why I cannot swim.

Today I had an extremely amazing conversation with my coworker who told me some horrifying ghost stories from her past. I got goosebumps. I also realized when I get truly scared I turn into a southern black woman and start praisin' jesus and fanning myself. I also get very loud and yell in a southern accent. Where this came from I do not know.

Perhaps in my past life I was a black woman with a dramatic flare. Actually, once I did a test online and it turned out in my past life I was a black man who was a warrior and a leader. So basically, I'm the wrong color. And you should always believe everything you read on the internet.

Now I'm watching Paranormal Activity 3 and trying to contain my OH LORD's and AMEN JESUS. At least I'm alone. Although that may not work out in my favor if there is indeed a demonic spirit lurking under my kitchen sink. Good thing I have salt water in a glass chillin near by. (This is actually for Tony's eye infection. But it's good to know I'm prepared.)

One last thought before I sign off and double check the door's locked;
Mitch and I broke out of our usual routine of either Denny's or Boston Pizza on the weekend and went to Moxie's. I found a Kid's menu lying under the table and was very disheartened to find that every meal on that menu seemed better than the actual adult menu. So I came up with a brilliant idea. An Adult Kid's menu for the plain eaters of the world. All you would have to do is mention quietly, so as not to embarrass your dining party (although I probably just embarrassed you by using the phrase 'dining party'),

HOLY SHIT PRAISE JESUS

....sorry...I just jumped out of my skin at this fucking movie. FUCK.

....anyway, where was I...so yeah, you'd ask for your adult kid's menu and sit comfortably down in those cramped booths where they seat 4 but decide to cram all 6 of you in there anyway. While your friends debated between food that doesn't even sound real and foreign spicy food you can't even pronounce, you can browse your adult kid's menu. What would be offered you ask? Exactly what's on the kids menu; grilled cheese, chicken fingers, a smiley face cheese pizza. Only it would be adult portions and prices. IT'S GENIUS.

Plain eaters of the world unite and demand an adult kid's menu. Actually, funny story; my parents had to ask for me to eat off the kid's menu until I was about the age of 14. When I got to be the lovely age of 14, waiters would start to say "We only serve up to 12 year olds on the kids menu" and then my parents would have to calmly explain I was a "picky" eater and would be more than willing to pay adult prices for the kid's meals.

Why does no one do this for me anymore?

Anyway, I was supposed to organize all my books tonight and put the one's up I don't want for sale. Then I started watching this movie. And now I'm too scared to go into the dark corner where I hoard my books. So look forward to my next blog hopefully being books for sale that you can buy from me (or trade) for extremely cheap as long as you come get them because I am a paranoid parrot and do not drive.

Goodnight ya'll....

....HOLY SHIT GOOD LORD JESUS.....seriously...fuck...watch this movie.

As a socially awkward penguin I seem to have chosen the most ironic job; a secretary. I work at a tool repair shop. There's four of us, three on a daily basis, and a dog. Which works well for the fact that I can't make friends. Now don't go ahead and throw me a pity party. I'm well aware it is my own fault. My choice of topics for conversations include books, dogs, and supernatural. Sometimes I like to complain about the weather. And when I'm really feeling friendly I'll discuss the top news topics with you, easily referencing my 4 different news apps I have on my phone. Come at me bro! I am a CNN junkie.

Unfortunately the two people I work with every day have nothing in common with me. My co-secretary is a mom of two who doesn't have internet and is very concerned about the bad ingredients of the energy drinks I pound back all day. My boss is an older man who swears a lot and basically says, "Hey," "Do this for me," and "See you tomorrow."

So needless to say, we run out of topics at about 9:30 am.

The plus side of my job is getting to wear jeans and a t-shirt every day. Which comes in handy since at the age of 22 I have blossomed my closet into one a mom would be jealous of. I'm not joking. 80% of my clothes come from Walmart or Winners. The other 20% is from Mitch's Mom buying me things. She has better taste than I do. And I'm not sure where this horrible taste in clothes came from. I literally walk past a mirror and think WHO IS THIS WOMAN? DOES SHE KNOW HER CLOTHES DON'T MATCH? Then I realize I'm yelling at myself. When I was younger I was convinced I had a flawless sense of style. But I was also drinking a lot. So I'm thinking I had beer goggles on for myself. Putting make up on is like cleaning the dishes, and shopping for new clothes is like taking out the garbage. Luckily I make up for it in my flawless sense of wit.

The sad part of it is, even moms dress cooler than I do now. It ain't the 90's no more.

Anyway, the point of all of this was me being socially awkward and working as a secretary. My job consists of talking to people in person and on the phone. Let me give you a few examples of my smooth talking;

"Good Morning, Charlotte Tools, Comax Speaking"

"Hey Charlotte, how are you doing?"
"How are you doing?"
"Great....and you?"
"How can I help you?"

"Thanks so much for helping."
"See you later."
".....Goodbye"

"err.....errr....ummmm......can I put you on hold?" -hang up-

In person I am even worse. I know nothing about tools. I know nothing about human interaction except for when it comes to my boyfriend and my dog (who is not even a human).
But I do love my job. And I'm happy to be working again and not sitting on my ass all day dancing with Ellen, yelling at Dr. Phil, googling cancer with Dr. Oz, and then crying during Anderson. Although, I do miss my day time TV. Now all I can do is watch Supernatural. Ugh I know, I should start getting paid for every time I drop "Supernatural".

Mitch is taking a nap. Tony's sleeping on towels on our bed because it is very muddy and wet outside. It's still snowing. I just made so much mash potato it would blow your mind. And now I need a power nap. Being plain and boring is exhausting.

When asked who I am most like, I often refer to Liz Lemon from 30 Rock. In fact, Tina Fey in general is practically my doppelganger. I was going to write a biography called Boringpants but Tina Fey beat me to the punch. Liz Lemon, like myself, cares more about food than people, makes potato chip sandwiches, and is very comfortable wearing swim wear when it's laundry day. She idolizes Oprah, and I strongly agree in anything Oprah says, Oprah is always right. I may be the only 22 year old who reads O Magazine monthly, absorbing the articles on weight loss for middle aged women. Tina Fey, like myself, grew up awkward and alone, only to turn it all around and become a very successful writer and comedian. That last part obviously does not apply to my life, as I am still very awkward, and consider my only accomplishment becoming slightly popular on tumblr. Tina Fey enjoys children and doesn't care for dogs, this may be our only difference. I despise children and treat dogs like babies. But other than that, it's flawless. So instead of boring you with the biography of my life, I strongly suggest you buy Tina Fey's book Bossypants and read the first 5 chapters.

I am also a lot like Karl from An Idiot Abroad. I watch that show and think, you know what, Karl's just misunderstood. Traveling as a plain eater, and a socially inept penguin, is a horrible feat. I was fortunate enough to grow up as a military brat and travel the world. I have visited many different places that once people find that about me, beg me to tell them wonderful travel stories. Unfortunately I have none. I visited Austria and ate schnitzel with noodles 7 nights in a row. I visited Cape Cod and saw Bill Clinton from a distance and ate chicken strips and french fries every night for two weeks. When living in Germany I went to a theme park where I understood nothing and went on the Never Ending Story ride 4 times in a row because I didn't know how to get off. I had a very warm vacation in Waikiki where I indulged every day in reading and eating BLT sandwiches, which I took the tomatoes out of. I swam in the ocean once (I have a fear of sand) and climbed a volcano. Unfortunately by the time I got to the top I couldn't even take in the view because I was having a panic attack over how high up I was. In Switzerland I tripped over a cow grate (it's meant for stopping cows from leaving the field, also for stopping 10 year old girls from walking in general) and cut open my knee, ruining the entire trip.

Now don't get all high and mighty and judgmental on me. Claiming I am a spoiled brat and I take advantage of the fact that I have traveled. You are wrong, I do enjoy traveling, I just enjoy doing it under my own agenda. Japan? No thanks, I would starve. And crowds make me nervous. Mexico? I don't think so, I don't want to get murdered and/or food poisoning. New Zealand? Maybe, because I would want to simply walk into Mordor.

I am not some ignorant white girl, I am just a boring, plain eater, and boring, plain eaters do not enjoy cultures that condone spicy food and raw fish. I like to blame my plain eating on my own culture, which is the good old United Kingdom. When I go back to England I am in my comfort zone. You can go into any restaurant and be guaranteed that 80% of the menu is made up of butter, salt, or potatoes. All of our food is bland and plain. Smoking is accepted as second nature. And the drinking age is more like a competition for how young you can get your child to drink (my parents were very disappointed that I didn't touch a drop of alcohol until I turned 18).

Anyway, today is Sunday, and I have accomplished watching Supernatural episodes, playing with my new markers, and unsuccessfully trying to find a way to watch Friday the 13th for free online. I hope your Sunday is much more eventful than mine, and that you can go away from this blog understanding a little more about the trials and tribulations of a plain eater, and haven't deleted this blog from your favorites.

WELCOME

Well, the time has come blogger world for me to blog publicly once more. I have spent the past two years blogging in the privacy of my exclusive livejournal account, I even had the page set up so everyone who came for a visit was accosted with a LOCKED "friends only" entry. I was blogging like a hipster with no one stopping me. Of course, with the illusion of the "locked" journal comes the idea that my blog is so cool that I only let certain people see it. Unfortunately I only had 4 friends. One of which was my own photography journal. Therefore I have low expectations of the popularity of this now public blog. If no one thought I was cool enough to try and be added to my bad ass "locked" journal, I doubt anyone will read this one. Even if it is public. It's like offering free food, but the food is moldy cheese. A few homeless people will stop by if they're drunk enough and take a bite.
And then sue you for food poisoning.

My new blog will be filled with, as the title states, "The adventures and travels of a plain eater". I like to pretend the plain eater comment is a metaphor for my own plain life. But really it's a stolen idea from my friend Alex. And I am not cool enough for my own metaphor. If you have ventured onto this journal under the daft illusion that you will read a super cool travel blog where I post artsy photos of interesting Australian people. You are wrong. Or if you assume by my other title that this is a cooking blog where I post cute recipes for cupcakes with owl faces on them, you are wrong. I am a plain, boring person who will post a disturbing amount of pictures of my dog. I will share the woes of a plain eater who's condiments consist of salt and butter, who hangs out with cool people who actually like eating sushi and think bubble tea is tasty.

Are you hooked yet?

Perhaps you will also enjoy my posts of all the embarrassing things I accomplish on a daily basis (I have gotten into the shower with my underwear on more than once....this month) or my rants on the paranormal. I strongly believe in keeping a vast amount of salt in your home, not only for flavoring, but for protecting yourself from demons. And the smell of sulfur only tells me one thing; there has been a demon in your home, and you must go get your salt. You may also relate to my exciting daily adventures like today where I purchased a set of 32 markers that came with a free sketchpad and 4 EXTRA markers that are smelly.

I have two best friends, one being my dog. Who currently hates me because I put him on a diet and today took vengeance upon me by taking a dump and getting it stuck in his fur. I had to scrape it off with a stick. My second best friend is an opinionated, beer loving woman who puts up with nobodies shit and talks to me for 5 hours on the phone about ghosts. I nicknamed her Oprah, not because she is fat and black (she is neither) but because I like to state, "Oh, excuse me, Oprah is calling, I have to take this." So far, no one has fallen for it.

I have a boyfriend who is far cooler than I could ever hope to be, and who lives with me and our dog. It was beard at first sight. (I was the one with the beard) He has many cool friends who we hang out with every weekend and recently all took a road trip with. I always dreamed of taking a road trip with friends, but since I've only ever had one (excluding my dog), the occasion has never come to be. There's Jad, or Jab, or Chad, whichever you prefer, who has 12 Omar's in his contact list. Then there's Alex who is the brain child behind this blog and runs his own company. Amanda, who makes cute iphone cases and has an impeccable taste in fashion. And Ashley who I hung out with today while she wore nothing but a t-shirt and panties. Now, by this point, I bet you're wishing that any of those people were writing this blog, as they have far cooler lives than I do, but unfortunately you found mine.

So welcome to SALT AND BUTTER, adventures and travels of a plain eater. If you have made it this far, I congratulate you. And I ask to bare with me as I live my extremely boring life, drink an obnoxious amount of energy drinks, and scrape poop off of my dog's ass.

-Charlotte