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Today my social anxiety and awkwardness claimed another victim. I really don’t know how I’ve made it so long without being monitored in public. I need to hire an adult nanny so they can help me from making a fool of myself. All I need is a social companion. Do those exist? Should I hire someone? Anyone need a job hanging out and being emotional support to a woman on the brink of crazy-town? Unlimited Wi-Fi and Diet Coke available. Games and activities like Exploding Kittens and brownie-eating-competitions will be provided. (Just don’t blow up my real cats, okay?)

(This started as a joke, but now there’s a part of me that really wants to hire someone who will do all of that with me. A sad testament to how little friends I have that it’s come to the point I’d consider paying someone to be one. Loser alert. It’s hard being an adult.)

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On to today’s victim in the pharmacy: 

Woman: Excuse me, I know you don’t work here… but can I ask you something?

Me: Sure. Unless it’s about condoms. I don’t use those so I don’t really have any legitimate advice on them. If I were you, I’d go with the ones that emphasize the woman’s pleasure though. Why the hell not, right? You’re the one here buying them. It’s okay being selfish sometimes.

Woman: Oh…

Me: I know what you’re thinking, but it was an educated and personal decision of ours. I’m married. Happily married even!

Woman: … I was just going to ask you if you knew where the Claritin was…

Me: Oh.. uh.. sorry. It’s right over there. Next to the hemorrhoid creams. Which, thankfully, I also don’t need to use. *nervous laughter*

*Woman stares at me with wide eyes and runs away*

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.

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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.

get out of my house

kneelingforgodLast week, I was asked by a friend to go to mass with her on Ash Wednesday. I’m not sure if she felt like I was in need of some holy intervention or she was just being friendly but, after much hesitation I figured, ‘why the fuck not?’ What’s the worst that could happen? The communion will give me diarrhea and I’ll have to step over everyone while they’re kneeling in the pew? I’ll trip and my boobs will accidentally fall out of my shirt in front of the poor virgin priest and his ragtag band of alter boys? I could survive those, right? No problem.

Well… I made it about twenty minutes in before I was convinced I was dying.

Me: Do you think it’s hot in here? I’ve got some swamp ass brewing.

Friend: No… I’m actually kind of chilly. Are you okay?

Me: Well… this is it. I’m dying. I’ve crossed into God’s house, and he’s striking me down and it’s only a matter of time until I burst into flames. This was bound to happen. I’m a terrible person.  Yesterday I stole an extra cracker from the sweet old lady handing out samples at Publix. It wasn’t even good but I couldn’t help myself. Who does shit like that? WHO?

Random Guy Next To Me: Everyone. Everyone does that.

Me: Oh. Really? That makes me feel better. Do you also try to secretly grope your spouse in public when you think no one is watching? God could be pissed at me for that. I’m pretty handsy. Do you do that, too? It would make me feel a lot more relieved if you did. You seem like a regular here and God hasn’t smited you yet.

Guy: Uh… can you stop talking to me?  You’re making me uncomfortable.

familyguygod

I don’t think I’m welcome there anymore. 

Do churches give you anxiety? I grew up in a religious family and I’m pretty familiar with them. Yet… they still scare the shit out of me. What the hell?

Everyone stay safe out there. There’s some bad weather brewing.

you’re weird, let’s be friends

When I was living in New York, one of my biggest complaints were the people. Sure, there were some good ones around, but it seemed like the majority were complete assholes. If they didn’t ignore you, they went out of their way to be a straight prick. New Yorkers…right? It’s the opposite here in the south. Some days, like today, you get to meet a really odd stranger while picking out some produce. strangerdangercat

Random Guy: Okay, I have to ask. Why are you buying so many jalapenos? What are you making that’s so spicy?

Me: Just jalapeno poppers for the Super Bowl. Nothing crazy.

RG: Oh. Are you sharing them with other people? If not, you are going to be shitting fire for a week straight.

Me: *holds up bag of 35 jalapenos* Yeah. Definitely sharing all of these. No ass-fire for me.

RG:  I did it once. On a dare. I ate 10 whole ones. I felt like there was a zombie baby stuck in my colon and eating me from the inside. I was pretty sure my intestines were going to blow up and I was going to die. What a weird way to die, right? That would be a weird obituary. Death by ass-plosion.  But at the same time, I’d love to make my parents have to deal with that added embarrassment when I’m gone.

Me: … you’re pretty fucking weird.

RG: Yeah, I’m sorry. That was pretty inappropriate to say to a stranger.

Me: No… I’m trying to ask you to be my friend. I love weird. Anyone who has the balls to say ‘ass-plosion’ to a stranger is okay by me.

minionhug

 

Ah… gotta love the south.

GO PANTHERS. WOO!

snickers for everybody!

Anyone else have an unhealthy relationship with Target? I’m a bit obsessed. I could spend hours walking up and down the aisles, sipping my overpriced Starbucks, and staring at all the bathroom decorations and trying to decide if it’s a good time to redecorate or not. The other day, Alex called me to make sure I was still alive and wondering if he should send a search party because I had been MIA for too long. It’s hard not to get consumed in there. I love it. I really do… but the employees hate me.

targetmeme

Target Cashier: Hi, how are you today? Did you find everything alright?

Me: I’m good, thanks. I found everything I needed. I’m just trying to convince myself to not get a Snickers. Sometimes it takes a lot of effort. I definitely don’t need one. You know what I’m saying?

Target Cashier: *awkward smile* Do you want to sign up for our RedCard today?

Me: No, thanks….. You know, I’m going for the it. Why not? I worked out today. Ate a salad for lunch. Plus… it’s Christmas. I wouldn’t be an American if I didn’t gain weight over the holidays. So, I’m doing it. The decision is made. I’m about to kill this almond one. It’s only $1 anyways, right? That’s nothing. It’s totally worth it. Ring her up, kind lady.

Target Cashier: Okay. Do you want to donate $1 to end local child hunger?

Me: ….

Target Cashier: ….

Me: Why’d you have to make this awkward, Julie?