step away from the Skittles

Earlier today my morning breath was so bad it made my husband gag. Rather than let me go get my shit in order he took some few deep breaths and powered through. Gotta respect a person who can deal with your gross qualities even when it tastes like a rat wiped its ass with your tongue. I know, I’m ruining the picture in your mind of how glamorous my life is. This is the sad reality, folks. You better believe it. (Don’t judge – your breath in the morning isn’t minty fresh either. Who’re you trying to fool?)

I’ve been trying to look at the things in life that make me happy because it makes me a more thankful person. You know, just the small things. Like my cats loving me so much they drop a cockroach on my pillow in the middle of the night. Or, even though I repulse Alex to the point of gagging sometimes, he will still go see Zootopia and share some Skittles and a blue slushie with me. (Yes, I’m a 29-year-old child.) I’m even thankful for my niece who told me I should probably step away from said Skittles because I need some help before bathing suit season. Thanks for the brutal honesty, kid.

When life takes a shit on you and you’re wading through a rough patch, it’s nice to remember the small stuff. Even if the great things you have are cloaked in unexpected disguises. You’ll just have to look a bit harder.

all aboard the hotmess express

Today I faced one of my biggest fears and got a haircut. I know. It doesn’t seem like a monumental occasion, and you’re probably thinking I’m bat-shit crazy or that I’m really a 5-year-old masquerading as the classy woman I am. But, I assure you, I am not five nor classy.

It seems like a ridiculous thing to be scared of, but when you’re socially awkward… it’s a fear that runs deep. Forced conversations with a stranger with nowhere to run? There are very few things that are as terrifying as this.

Hairdresser: Hi Blair, how are you doing today?

Me: Hi! My name is Blair.

Hairdresser: Ooookay… What can I do for you today?

Me: I need like six inches off with some long whispy bangs. Not too short with the bangs though. My husband thinks they are ugly. He would never tell me what to do with my hair but I don’t want him to think I’m ugly. I rely on him for things, you know. I can either get bangs from you now, or get my bang from him later.

(looks up and realizes the hairdresser has bangs)

Me: You can be the exception to the rule because yours look good. I’m sure my husband wouldn’t think you were ugly. I don’t think he’d want to bang you though. If he did I’d probably kill him. I hope you don’t take that personally.

Hairdresser: ….

Me: I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I’m just going to sit here quietly and listen to Dr. Phil until it’s time for me to give you a generous tip.

I think I deserve a cookie for getting my haircut for the first time in a year, or at least, a high-five. On top of that, I went to the doctor for the first time yesterday in six years. Imagine how awkward I am when I have to take my clothes off and have the doctor’s icy hands of death touch me.

Small victories, guys. Small victories.

all you need is chocolate.

Although we look at Valentine’s Day as ‘commercial’ in my house, I still can’t condemn a holiday that boasts love. All you really need in life is love and chocolate, right? So, that’s what Alex and I will be focusing on today – making chocolate cookies smothered in huge globs of frosting. (Let’s face it … cake,cupcakes, and cookies are really just vehicles for however much frosting you can pile on and shove down your throat.)  Needless to say … it’s going to be a good day. 

Still, I wanted to share some things I love. They really shouldn’t come as a surprise since I talk about them often, but I never put  legitimate pictures/videos up of people.

Alex, who shares my love for animals and married me despite all of my craziness. 

Pix – my spoiled kitty who is obsessed with her heated bed

Tora – only 4 months old, but knows how to work a camera

Happy Valentine’s Day, guys. Hope y’all have a great day. Remember – you don’t have to be in a relationship to enjoy today. There are plenty of other important things to love on.

abort! abort!

Before Alex and I got married, we spent a fair chunk of time in a long distance relationship. We had no other choice but to master the art of dirty texting. Or ‘sexting’ as the cool people call it. (I really don’t know if that’s true. I’ve never been cool… but I’m going with it anyway.) We did it all day, every day… until the time I hit ‘send’ on a text and it went to the wrong person. My brother.

“I’ve been really bad. I wish you were here to bend me over and spank me” (It was something close to that. Thankfully, this happened six years ago.)

I’m pretty sure if there was a God, he would have followed my wishes and struck me down right then and there. Because, holy shit… I was begging him to. Anybody but my brother. Why him? Why, God, WHY? It’s one of the more horrifying moments in memory for me.

His response, which came a slow and agonizing hour later: “Yeah, uh… I’m going to pass on that…” It took quite awhile for my embarrassment over the situation to fade.

Have you ever sent a text to the wrong person before? Were you as embarrassed as me? Or were you too busy laughing your ass off to be worried about it?

For some reason this made me die of laughter. 

there’s a whole lot of crazy going on

Today is Alex and my wedding anniversary. Can we give him a round of applause, please? Dealing with me on a daily basis is a whole roller-coaster of crazy. And not a fun one where you scream, throw your hands in the air, and make a plan with your friends to give a big thumbs-up and a cheesy grin to the camera as you zoom by on the rails. Keep your arms and legs inside the cart at all times, folks, or you might lose one. 

Even though I’m a bit crazy, our marriage is quite the opposite. We have an easy, respectful and loving relationship, and I couldn’t possibly be more grateful. I thought it would be fun to share a poem I wrote for Alex this year. Now, let me forewarn you: an 8-year-old has better poetry skills than I do. (I probably haven’t written one since then, anyway) This poem was meant to be a silly joke, and that’s all.

“Oh Alex, I really love you
And the way that you love me
Your butt, your smile, your sense of humor,
Jesus, you make me so crazy.

You’re sexy when you’re cleaning
Take charge of that litter box!
Hurry up, now. I can’t stand it
Strip down into your socks!

Thank you for accepting me,
Farts, hairiness, and all
Even when I shed like crazy,
And leave it on the shower wall

I’ll love you ’til you’re old and wrinkly,
I’m honored to be your wife
You’re stuck with me forever, babe
I’m yo bitch fo’ life”

I know, I know. I won’t quit my day job. 

get your clothes off the floor, karen

Fun Fact: The word “slut” was originally used to describe a woman who didn’t keep her room clean.

All of those years in school I thought people slut-shaming me had no basis. Turns out I was wrong this whole time. I loved being slutty in my room when I was younger. Luckily, for my husband, I don’t participate in that lifestyle anymore. No sluttyness here. I have high standards for keeping the dirtiness out. That’s what happens when you’re married.

curious case of the sleep farts

Marriage is awesome. Not only do you get to share everything in your life with someone, cook for them, and clean up after them. It also gives you the chance to come to terms with things that embarrass the hell out of you. Like the smell you leave behind in the bathroom after your morning cup of coffee, or the daunting idea that someone besides your mother will know you have hair that grows above your lip that you have to wax. Or, in my case — having the sleep farts.

I don’t know if having relaxed muscles and letting wind escape in the middle of the night is common or not, but imagine the horror I felt when I came to the realization it was uncontrollable. There was no more running to the bathroom and pulling my butt cheeks apart to let them silently escape and I could only blame the random noises in the middle of the night on our cat so many times.  I was all in. I was married. I had to own up to it, and get over it. Man, the first year of marriage was interesting. I’ve become a lot more comfortable about the weird things I do in private since then. Obviously.

Another perk of being married: I’ve been able to try different careers out without any training. I’ve been a masseuse. A chef. And,most commonly — a barber. Would you trust me with scissors around your hair? You probably shouldn’t. One time, I cut a huge chunk off the top of Alex’s hair, which forced him to wear a hat for a month. But, he forgave me, and here I am… still holding the title of the resident barber. Bless his heart.

On a serious note: Find the person that treats you right and makes you happy. Don’t let go. Whether you want to get married or not… there’s no greater feeling than being blindly in love.

i might be a Bitter Betty

Yesterday I had the pleasure of spending hundreds of dollars on plane tickets to attend the upcoming wedding of a cousin I haven’t spoken to in probably a decade. Now, I don’t want to sound like a Bitter Betty. I like to see people happy and in love. (Hell, I’m happy and in love and make people suffer through it. It’s only fair.) It’s simply because I don’t get the social convention of weddings. (I’m starting to feel a bit Sheldon Cooper-y, now.) I know. I’m a woman. What the hell?

I’m 100% aware that I stand in the minority on this, so bear with me. I’m not trying to offend anyone. (If you get offended anyways, that’s okay) But, I just can’t wrap my mind around the amount of money people spend on a few hours. Obviously, this doesn’t apply to those lucky jerks who don’t have to worry about it. Screw you, by the way. (kidding, kidding)

I got to be part of the happiest day of my friend’s life last year. Woohoo. When we were getting ready she cried for an hour because the linens she ordered were off one shade of pink. Her flood of tears caused her mascara to run. It got onto her dress. When she couldn’t get the stain out a full on toddler-style meltdown ensued. She didn’t like the way her mom’s hair was styled so she ripped it out and went on a rampage and threw shit everywhere. I’m serious. (Needless to say, this shit show helped it become my favorite wedding thus far) Isn’t this supposed to be a great memory? How is being this high-strung count as fun? Was all of this worth $30,000? I just don’t get it.

Yes, I’m married. We got married in Vegas. The money my parents set aside for our wedding was given to us for a down-payment on a house instead. I just couldn’t let all that money be wasted on a big party. How boring and practical, right? Blah. Even I hate us.

So, I’ve come to the realization that I’m extremely weird and just may be failing at being a female. Well… you win some, you lose some, you know?

when cold medicine makes you crazy

I woke up yesterday feeling like I was upchucked by Satan… which, I can’t say I was too disappointed about. It gave me a legitimate reason to do nothing but be a lazy sack all day. Score! But, as I laid here in a mush of blankets with tissues corkscrewed into nose (sexy, eh?) I discovered two things:

1. I never add pictures to my posts. What the hell?  That’s boring and something that needs to be changed.
2. Too much cold medicine makes you do weird things.

So… here’s a picture of my husband trying to shove himself into a pet carrier.

Why, you ask? Because why the hell not.

how diets and husbands don’t always mix

Every time I start a new diet (which is way more often than I’d like to admit) I always tell my husband not to let me eat specific things.  He always gives me a funny look and says something along the lines of “I don’t know… I really don’t want to tell you when to not eat something…” to which I promise him it’s 100% okay because I’m giving him permission and I want him to. Then a few days later when I want something from the list of forbidden foods, I get pissed at him for having the audacity to tell me I shouldn’t eat it. Seriously, how dare he? I’m a grown ass woman, if I want a piece of cake I’m going to eat a damn piece of cake. Get out of here.

When I feel like starting a diet all over again, I swear up-and-down that this time it’s going to be different. Of course, the cycle always repeats itself.

Poor Alex… marriage has been rough on him.