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

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.