welcome to Lame City

I went through a phase as a teenager when nothing made me happy. Gifts were met with an eye-roll and talks with my parents resulted in the typical ‘stay out of my life‘ or ‘you’re so embarrassing!‘ God, teenagers suck. What the hell? Thankfully… it didn’t last long. (Kids – there’s no better friend than your mom/dad. Who else is willing to pay for all of your unnecessary crap and deal with your shit? No one. NO ONE, I tell you!)

schmidtyouths

I find myself being the polar opposite lately. I got new towels today and it made me so happy I did a little jig in the bathroom as I hung them up. Because I got towels. Then a handful of Starburst jelly beans made me sing a song. I’m not sure if I’m becoming more appreciative of little things in my old age, or becoming more lame. Seriously, who gets excited over towels? And food? I think it’s all downhill from here, folks. Next up – getting excited over fiber pills and how they do wonders for my digestive system. Stay tuned.

Yesterday was my husband’s birthday. There is nothing in this world more important to me than him, so I wanted to add it in. Happy Birthday, Alex. laytonalex

help yourself to some tasty poop water

I live on a cul-de-sac in one of the top 5 safest towns in America. Seriously. People are happy here with their pedigree dogs and their perfect families. Everybody waves. Everybody’s polite. It’s  goddamn sickening, guys, and completely unnatural. But everyone deals with neighbors that need to be slapped upside the head once in awhile. Even here in Perfectville, USA.

I’ve had an ongoing issue with one of the neighborhood kids. Now, you don’t need much introduction to this kid, except that he lives across the cul-de-sac and he specializes in being strange and an asshole. Good times. I know that sounds harsh, but really…. all kids are strange as hell. Yes, even yours. This kid will do whatever the hell he wants and has parents who are never home to correct the behavior. He climbs over our fence and tramples on our garden. He’s opened and walked right into our front door. He’s even taken our mail from the box before. It’s insanity.  I, and many other neighbors, have talked to him and his parents multiple times but nothing ever comes of it.Awhile ago I spoke to him again about staying out of our yard, especially if the gate is locked. But… he didn’t listen. Again.

dennis_the_menace_asshole

So I came up with a master plan to get him back. Which required me asking one of my other neighbors if I could have his dog’s poop. (Yes, it was awkward. Yes, he probably thought I was crazy and questioned whether this town is safe anymore.) I lined up the poop by the fence where the kid lands and hosed it down with water. You know… to soften it up nicely for impact. So thoughtful of me, right? Then… I sat there excitedly eating chips and waited all day staring out my window. It was worth it. Just to see the look on the kids face when he fell into a puddle of murky shit water with bugs floating all around. He hasn’t jumped our fence in months.

Blair: 1 Neighbor Boy: 0

Sometimes you’ve gotta fight fire with fire.

(Disclaimer – No, this kid doesn’t have any disabilities besides being a jerk, so don’t worry. And, yes, I could have been an adult and not stooped to his level, but where the hell is the fun in that?)

hey, suck on this

I go to the post office multiple times a week, so lately I’ve been trying to befriend the women who work there. It’s proven to be difficult because, let’s face it, most government employees have the personality of a sullen teenager who’s mastered the art of sighing and being an asshole at the same time. Good job, guys! Way to set the bar high.

Since I see the same few women every time I go, I try to be as friendly as possible even though it’s normally met with restraint. Today I crafted a plan to get on their good side. I was going to bring them what all adults want in their mouths – lollipops. What person doesn’t like lollipops, right? They would love me after this. Pure genius.

zachslolly

Post Office Lady: How are you today? Anything liquid, fragile, perish—-

Me: I brought you lollipops! The good ones… with the gum in the middle.

Lady: Oh, uh, thanks? I guess? That was….thoughtful of you.

Me: You’re welcome. I’m here all the time so I thought it would be a step in the direction of a new friendship between us.

Lady: Sure. Anything in the box liquid, fragile, perishable or explosive?

Me: Nope. Unless cocaine is perishable haha. I’m just kidding. Seriously, that was a bad joke. It’s not cocaine.

Lady: ……

Me: It’s just weed. Gotcha! *slaps knee* I’m here all night, folks.

Lady: I’m going to need you to wait here…

 

Lesson Of The Day – There is such a thing as ‘too much, too soon.’ Don’t force awkward jokes with strangers when you have nothing else to talk about. And… drugs are not a good topic to bring up, especially when you are standing in the middle of a government building.

‘Word Vomit’ … it’s a real thing, guys!

let’s crush those tomatoes, ladies

While I was reaching for some of my prized Chobani yogurt in the grocery store the other day, a random man grabbed my ass. Believe me when I say – it took all of the willpower I could muster to refrain from turning around and crushing his balls so hard they looked like deflated tomatoes with their guts oozing out. What a prick, right? I looked for Alex to defend my honor but he wandered off and had been lost in the beer aisle at that point. Damn it!

tomatoballs

I’m not sure why anyone would think touching a random person would be a great start to any sort of ‘relationship.’ Especially when one person was wearing a blatantly obvious wedding ring (as I was!) Did he expect me to just escort him to the bathroom and drop my panties for him? Or that we would start a long-lasting and loving relationship from some unwelcome groping? I mean, seriously…has any woman (or man, really) ever had a positive response to something like this? Where the fuck do people get the nerve to grab people?! So many questions, so little answers. 

People, it is never okay to touch a stranger. Don’t grab their ass. Don’t grab their arm. Don’t even poke them. Not. Okay. You copy? Just don’t. ‘Hey, Chobani kicks ass, so you must too’ is a much better ice breaker. Plus, your balls will have a much better chance of making it through the shopping trip without being harmed.

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?)

spongebobbreath

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.

a nose full of armpit

When I was young I convinced the other kids in my neighborhood that my dad invented farting. I had one hell of an imagination back then. I thought it was a fun game to see what absurd shit I could convince other kids of. (Kids will believe anything so, why not? Fun for everyone.) For days, every time they saw my dad they’d laugh and congratulate him on his great discovery. He had no idea what was going on so he’d just stand there and awkwardly stare at them like they were walking around with a foot growing out of their faces. The ruse went on for awhile until my sister finally told them it was impossible for someone to invent a bodily function and that I was just fucking with them. She thought it was important I remained honest. I was pissed and hated her for ruining my fun. That bitch.

daeneryswomanMy sister has always looked out for me and tried to keep me on the right path. Even going as far as smelling my armpits to make sure I really did put deodorant on when I said I did. Or being the one to teach me how to shave my legs. She is by far the most badass and influential person that I know. Even though I’m a day late for International Women’s Day, it doesn’t even matter. She’s celebrated in my mind every day.

Thanks, Moe, for smelling my armpits and telling the neighbors that we aren’t heiresses to the fortune of fart discovery. 

(Random question – I’m thinking of making a new header for my site, but I’m terrible at doodling. If any of you are good at drawing and interested in doing a simple doodle for me, email me at theshamefulsheep@gmail.com if you want to work something out)

you’re a bitch, Mary

I’ve always lived by the idea that humor can turn the shittiest of situations around. Obviously it can’t cure extreme circumstances like cancer, but at least it can lighten a mood even if for a few minutes. It’s helped me get out of some dark times so I try to keep my blog posts along these guidelines to keep the train moving in a positive direction. My last post strayed from the ‘course’ and this one will stray a bit too.

I knew I’d regret it almost instantly after publishing my last post about being overwhelmed by the prospect of voting this year. It’s the first time I’ve actually considered deleting a post but decided against it. While the majority of people who commented were intensely passionate, thank you for not going all bat-shit-crazy on me. A lot of your comments made me realize the error of my ways and I will be registering to vote. I appreciate your long and thoughtful responses and your opinions. But there is no way in goddamn fucking hell, I will ever stand by and smile at personal threats and attacks.

fuckyoutoo

I’ve received multiple emails and have read multiple posts people have made on their own blog as a response to mine. Some have called me a ‘retard.’ Some say I’m a piece of shit. Some tell me they wished I would die. Some tell me being overwhelmed by the candidates this year is like being a kindergartner having a temper-tantrum. You guys could have just had a conversation with me like an adult and kept it classy. What the fuck? I actually respected a few of these people as writers. Sad. If, from now on, you have something to say to me and you want me to actually give a shit about your opinion, all you have to do is be kind. Common sense, people. It’s really not that fucking hard. I mean, seriously, how can you expect people to actually respect your opinion when you attack and insult them?

Anyways, this will be my last serious post. Back to humor from now on. Thanks to everyone for coming along on this terrible off-the-tracks train ride. The majority of you are cool as hell.

i’m getting stabby

Sometimes I feel like a bad American. Now, I can definitely get down with the love of hamburgers and pizza. I’m also all about double-fisting cans of really shitty beer until I can’t remember my name and I’m running down the street wearing my bra as a headband. (I haven’t done that before. Nope, never. Really.) I just can’t handle the politics. It makes me stabby. When someone tries to talk to me about them I stare at them wide-eyed and clueless. I’m a lost cause.

georgecarlinquote

People like to give me a lot of shit because I don’t vote. (Yes, you can too if you want. But I’m just going to shake my head slowly and pretend you’re naked and being hugged by a human-size porcupine.) Obviously I care about the issues at hand and a lot of them are important to me, I think I just get too overwhelmed by the arguing. I can’t handle the confrontation. The idiocy. The insanity. I get too emotionally invested by things so I’m better off avoiding them like the plague.

Ready for some irony? My college major was Political Science. (Weird, right?)

(Edited to Add this paragraph) I just can’t handle the way politics turn people into assholes. Recently when Scalia passed away, I read numerous posts on Facebook and here (WP) about celebrations. How it was a great thing. There were jokes over his death, cheers, and a lot of fucked up stuff about how happy people were. Regardless of the guy’s politics – he was still a person. With a family. Who died. Seriously. What the fuck is wrong with people? You’re disgusting. 

I’m curious where you stand, so you better vote down below. I already told you I was feeling stabby. So… you better listen! (Please and thank you 🙂 )

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.

ericforman

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.

nobody poops sunshine and rainbows

Well, everyone is crap-their-pants-excited over having an extra day this year, but the universe is punishing me with the worst headache I’ve ever experienced. Granted, it could always be worse. I could have been the woman at the grocery store this morning puking up her scrambled eggs on top of the avocado display. No! Not the avocados! Anything but the avocados! (I know y’all are thinking it. I sure as hell was.) Or I could have been the guy in my friend’s office who sharted at an important business meeting last week and had to waddle out clutching his ass cheeks so nothing escaped through the bottom of his pant leg. A headache? That’s all you’ve got? No problem. Bring it on, universe. You miserable bitch.

stepbrothers

I keep hearing that people feel the need to be productive today. Even Facebook told me to “Enjoy your extra day. Use it wisely.” Well, I took its advice and slept. All fucking day. Let’s be real – if you are an adult sleeping all day is the only way to truly enjoy it. Between naps, I did the wisest possible thing and deleted my account. Thanks, Facebook. Good idea.

I’m so damn tired of reading about people’s perfect lives and their gifted kids who poop sunshine and rainbows. Gone are the days of being forced to see posts bragging of new cars, jobs, vacations, and every goddamn time they check into the gym. Nobody cares about the perfectly grilled steak laying on a bed of vegetables and bullshit you got at fancy restaurant for dinner. What the fuck are y’all trying to prove? And to who? Nobody’s life is as perfect as they portray on social media. No one’s. 

So, I’ll just be sitting here Facebook-less on my own island. Driving my 5-year-old car to anywhere but the gym. Taking my vacation an hour away by car because I’m too cheap/afraid to fly. Yeah, I’m not anywhere close to perfect and neither is my life. And I’m okay with that.