that’s not weird or anything

Over Christmas, I stood in the middle of a dirty and crowded Wal-Mart aisle for twenty minutes considering whether or not to buy a toy moped that matched the cat-like Monster High dolls my 9-year-old niece has. I mean, this thing was pretty damn awesome – you could decorate it with stickers, the black ‘paint’ was super shiny with zebra stripes, and I knew her dolls would look really awesome zooming around on it in their cute dresses and their perfectly high-lighted hair flying behind them. She’d love it. No doubt. I knew this would make her Christmas. Until Alex pointed out that it wasn’t what she asked for.

monsterhighscooter

I honestly felt a little bit disappointed. I looked forward to her opening it, then asking me to play with her. Then, I realized there’s a 98% chance I’m teetering on the brink of insanity because I thought it was so cool I considered buying the damn dolls and their matching moped for myself.  Nobody would know, right? Alex wouldn’t tell my secret. A 29-year-old married woman starting her own Monster High collection… that’s not too weird or anything. (Except…it is 100% weird as hell and someone should have busted into that Wal-Mart and bitch slapped me across  the face two times. Once for thinking of buying it. Twice for going into Wal-Mart in the first place.)

The truth is – I don’t think I’ll ever grow up. I still zip my high-heel boots up over my hidden Batman socks. I prefer seeing an animated family movie over any other genre.  Feeding the ducks and making a stuffed animal at Build-A-Bear seems like a great afternoon. A game of Clue and hot chocolate tops off the perfect night. I don’t know how I ended up so weird.

Which leads me to a… Fun Fact: People with awkward and weird personalities tend to make the best friends. 

So… anyone want to come play a rousing game of Clue with me while Finding Nemo plays in the background? Bonus – I even have some peppermint hot chocolate leftover from Christmas to share.

i don’t think that’s lemonade…

Ever have one of those days?  You know, the kind where you get to finally find out what urine tastes like, and take a knuckle-puck to the face? Unfortunately, I have. A ‘knuckle-puck’ is not a clever way of saying I was punched. I’m talking about a Mighty-Ducks-inspired hockey shot that drove a puck, courtesy of my brother, right into the cheek of a sad, awkward 8-year-old clutching a Cabbage Patch Kids lunchbox. If you haven’t heard of The Mighty Ducks: you suck and there’s simply no way we can go on being friends any longer. We’re done. (Okay, I’m only joking.) I don’t think I’ve ever even eluded to the fact that I have an older brother. But, he does exist, and he was being an asshole that day. Now, I will say in his defense – I don’t think he  was actually aiming at me. Or… that’s what I like to tell myself, at least.

It was winter in Connecticut at the time. When I ran inside crying to my mom, she sent me back out to lay in the snow. She wasn’t going to let me use the frozen peas she paid for to rest on my bruise when there was free snow just laying around everywhere outside. C’mon, now. 

monstersincsnowcone

This is where a shitty situation turned, well… pissy. All I can say is: don’t believe it when someone tells you yellow snow is just extra lemonade they dumped out earlier in the day. My 8-year-old self can assure you – it’s not. 

It was a rough day. Boys, I tell ya.

want to have a dance party?

Social gatherings are a butt-clenching experience for me. I’m not too bad holding a conversation one-on-one, but with a lot of people? Terrible. Just terrible. You know when you’re somewhere noisy and trying to have a conversation so you speak louder? And all of a sudden, there’s this wave of silence and you find yourself shouting something ultra embarrassing like “THEN HE TOLD ME I HAD A BROWN STAIN ON THE BACK OF MY PANTS.” Everyone stares at you awkwardly like they did when you passed out in college and didn’t know your friends drew dicks all over your face. Well… I feel like I have dicks on my face every day.

kyledicks

I thought my social anxiety would get better as I aged — but it seems to be doing the opposite. I guess I will forever be the awkward adult drawing cat pictures at the kids table, talking about My Little Pony, and throwing dance parties while everyone else is drinking beer and watching football in the other room. At least I’m the favorite aunt, I guess. You win some, you lose some, you know?

Socially savvy people — I will forever be envious of you. I don’t know how you do it.

Off topic: I read somewhere that the weekend before Thanksgiving has the highest rate of relationship break-ups in the US. What a way to start the holidays, right? Good luck out there today, guys.

(Photo Credit : South Park/Comedy Central)

why didn’t i think of that?

I hate that I’m one of those people that gets annoyed by so many things… The sound of people clipping their nails. The fact that it’s socially unacceptable for me to let my leg hair grow out. When I’m singing along with a song in the car and the artist gets it all wrong. That I can’t live a healthy life just on cupcakes. I could go on all day. One of the things that annoys me the most: when someone invents something that’s stupid as hell and becomes a millionaire.

How many people face-palmed when ‘silly bandz’ became popular a few years ago? Hell, I did.  Rubber bands in different shapes. That’s all they were. Yet, kids walked around for a solid year with them stacked all the way up to their armpits. There were hoards of them. Foaming at the mouth, begging and pleading their parents for them in every store I went into. For rubber bands. Rubber bands, people. The things that come free wrapped around your celery.

sexbands

Don’t even get me started on pet rocks. What the hell is with that?

I can’t tell you how many times stupid inventions have come around and it makes me question my intelligence. WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT?  BLAIR, YOU DUMBASS. Just think — we are all one stupid idea away of becoming millionaires and living the rest of our lives doing nothing but eat cake and be lazy. The true American dream.

 

tell me something funny

I’ve been nominated for a Liebster Award. I see them floating around everywhere, and I truly have no idea what they are. What I haven’t seen around : who wins. anybody? what do I get if I win? who chooses the winner?! WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?

So, I’ve decided I’m going to do a rebel-version of the award “rules” and just answer the questions. The only reason I’m doing gonna do it is because the person who nominated me is pretty awesome. She cracks me up. Go visit Sandra’s blog “what sandra thinks”  here.

Her questions were:

How many different places have you lived and which was your favorite?
I’ve lived in 7 different states  here in the US: Massachusetts, New Jersey, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, Utah, and currently North Carolina. My favorite was Utah — friendly people and snow-capped mountains. Hello.
Describe yourself in 5 words or less.
My cat has her own room. (six words — but it says a lot)
Who is your hero or idol?
JK Rowling. A bit cliche, but growing up I always thought it was amazing how she could captivate an audience.
Where is your favorite place on earth?
Anywhere coffee, sweatpants, and fuzzy slippers are socially acceptable to wear all day.
What is your most-loved childhood memory?
Races with my sister to see who could poop the fastest. Kids.
What annoys you most?
When people are unwilling to see something from another’s perspective. Or anything foot related. Feet are disgusting.
If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, health concerns aside, what would it be?
Pizza or Chinese food. Not real Chinese food — the bastardized American version.
Where would you go on your perfect vacation?
A margarita and a beach is all I need.

Rather than pass it along to other people, I thought it would be fun to just ask my own question to anyone who wants to answer. I’m going to base it off my favorite question of Sandra’s.
What is your funniest childhood memory? (kid stories always make me laugh)

eat my damn bread, ducks

I went on a jog today. I use that word loosely, considering I do more of an uncomfortable and frantic waddle… like my nether-region fell asleep after sitting on a bicycle too long.  (Seriously… how do cyclists handle it?) But, I love that it’s getting cooler out, so I figured I’d just put my big girl panties on and get to it.

On the neighborhood paths around here there are always ducks, making it a priority for me to stuff bread into my pockets before I head out. I truly enjoy when I get to feed the ducks. It’s pretty embarrassing because it’s always me… surrounded by a bunch of toddlers. Usually, I sit and wait for people to leave, but today I was in a time crunch so I weaseled my way right in front of them. Hell, it’s not like they are going to remember it this one time, anyway. Nobody remembers shit from when they were 3.

But when I got to them they completely ignored me and my bread. What the hell? This leads me to an important question: since dogs can sense when someone is upset, is it possible ducks can sense when someone is crazy?

I’m thinking yes. I should probably just leave it to the kids from now on.

crazyducks

don’t pay $65 for fake poop

On Sunday it rained all day — which is really becoming a straight pain in the ass here in North Carolina. We planned to hang out with two of our young nieces, so we let them decide what we were going to do since our original outside plan was foiled. Their decision? Dave & Busters. Why? Last time they were there they saw a fake poop in the arcade that they couldn’t live without winning. Now, originally I was all for this and I thought playing a bunch of games would be pretty fun… even if the endgame was a piece of plastic crap.

Wrong. Wrong on all accounts.

Our Dave & Busters is in our mall. I didn’t take into account it would be full of parents that want to shop on weekends but not deal with their kids. So, of course the easy answer was to let the arcade babysit them. There were dozens of them. Everywhere. 50 unsupervised preteens? Hell… it’s hell, I tell you. I have a new found respect for teachers. Bless your poor, patient souls.

Even worse, it cost $65 to earn enough tickets for the poop.

I’m not sure who’s worse. The parents who let their rude, loud kids ruin an expensive arcade? Or me, for spending $65 on a fake piece of shit I could buy for $5 at a store?

It’s me. The answer is me.

abercrombie nightmares

Today I had the pleasure of shopping at Abercrombie with my cousin. Or displeasure. I remember this store being popular when I was in high school… which was sadly now over a decade ago (man I’m ancient.) But I do NOT remember the migraine-inducing volume of music and heavy stench of perfume that gets burned into the walls of your nose. Not sure how this entices people to buy their clothes… it just makes me want to run away screaming while elbowing all the kids in my way.

Worst of all, the girls who work there have waists the size of my thigh. I may be exaggerating a teeny-tiny bit, but not much. It doesn’t get more depressing than that, folks.

I just don’t get the appeal — which makes me feel like I’m hitting that point in adulthood when I turn into my mother because she just never understood ANYTHING cool when I was young. It’s a scary, chill-inducing thought.

I need some anti-aging cream, stat! And a Dr. to pump the perfumey stench of teenage angst and depression out of my lungs would be useful, too.

did someone say breadsticks?

On 3-day-weekends I always get so excited. Holidays in Blair’s world = comfy clothes, a blanket, junk food, and Netflix marathons. On any other major holiday, I’ll be happy to spend hours baking your pumpkin pies, or hunting down an ugly sweater to wear… but please, family, no…not Labor Day! I love you, y’all are awesome, but I might consider suicide bombing and taking out everyone if you don’t leave me alone.

I woke up Monday so excited my plan was finally coming to fruition. I rolled out of bed, piled my hair on top of my head, dragged my favorite fluffy blanket off the bed to the couch, got a hot cup of coffee and assumed the position. No sooner than loading up Netflix, in creeps Alex with an announcement:

Alex: We are supposed to be meeting everyone at the children’s museum soon.

Me: No way. What the hell, we don’t even have kids!

Alex: So, it will be fun to see our nieces and nephew…

Me: What! We saw them yesterday. I’m not getting dressed. I’ve deemed it a yoga pants and baggy t-shirt day. It’s already set in stone. Can’t change plans now. Sorry

Alex: You can wear what you have on.

Me: Ew. No I can’t. This really makes me mad. I wanted to lie here all day and be a roly-poly.

Alex: We won’t be gone long.

Me: I’m not going.

Alex: You’re being stubborn.

Me: Tell everyone I said ‘Hi!’

Alex (starts walking away) Well, we’re going to Olive Garden after and you’re going to miss the breadsticks.

Me: Okay, fine……………. I’ll get ready. Why didn’t you just start with that?

The day actually ended up being pretty fun. I do love my family, but sometimes I just want to forget we live five minutes away from my husband’s family and go into bear-style hibernation and avoid everyone. Sadly, food can literally convince me to do just about anything. Take note, people!