adventures in awkward

I’m still slowly finding my way out of the sludge of my months-long-hiatus on this blog. I’m not sure why it takes me so long to write  a post now, but I’ve been plagued with some pretty severe writer’s block. Everything I write makes me cringe like a 14-year-old who has parents that go out of their way to embarrass them as many ways as possible. (You know, like when your mom dropped you off at school in her pajamas and didn’t bother combing her hair or putting a bra on? Damn, those years were rough.) I used to crank out posts every other day, but now I’m only managing one a week. Brain? Hello? Are you in there?  Your presence is requested on the poop deck. 

I don’t normally respond to blogger awards but I thought it would be fun to answer some questions, then ask you guys some.  I like learning about you guys anyways, considering I spend a lot of time reading your blogs. So, answer my questions, okay? Answer them or else!  

Here are questions that were asked of me by hotmessmemoir. She’s the one who nominated me. She kicks ass, so check out her blog:

You are given an unlimited amount of money by Daddy Warbucks. The only stipulation is it must be spent on a dream you’ve had. What is that dream?  I’m assuming this means the money must be spent to make the dream come true? That’s what I’m going with, at least. I’m not very good at remembering dreams… but I have a recurring one where my brother is super pregnant. I’d choose that one, hands down. Why? My brother can be douchey sometimes, and it would bring me great pleasure to watch him waddle around in public munching on a turkey leg while everyone gave him dirty looks and shielded their children’s eyes. The horror!

turkeyleg

 

What are you really good at? Embarrassing the people who are ballsy enough to go in public with me. It takes skill. Need some tips? Hit me up.

 

What have you never learned to do? Anything ‘yard’ related – like rake, mow, or anything else outside. My family was very old school growing up. The girls did the inside work while the guys did outside.  I helped pull weeds for the first time last year (at the age of 28, mind you) for all of 5 minutes. Alex laughed at me the whole time because I hate to be dirty. Needless to say – that 5 minutes was long enough. Never again, I say. Never again!  I can fold laundry like a champ and make an ass-kicking homemade mac-and-cheese though.

housework

Here are my questions for y’all: (answer some, all, or be lame and sit and the corner and pick your nose and flick it at the wall. Whatever floats your boat.)

  1. Think of the person you dislike the most in this world. If you had the ability to force them to eat a full plate of anything you wanted, what would it be? ( I would choose a nice corn and rabbit turd salad tossed with a deliciously warm cat-piss-vinaigrette.)
  2.  What do you have an irrational fear of? Spiders? Heights? People who pick their nose and flick it at the wall?
  3. You’re going out to dinner tonight – what type of restaurant are you going to? Mexican? Chinese? American? Italian?
  4. If you’re a blogger – do you have aspirations of writing a book at some point? (Really curious about how many bloggers have the end goal of becoming a published author or if you’re just doing it for fun.)
adventures in awkward

I like to think I’m a mature adult even though I’m 100% guilty of randomly losing my shit in laughter over things like farts and people falling down. What can I say? Sometimes it’s hard to keep your cool when farts sound like quacking ducks and when you get to witness first hand someone so engrossed in their phone that they trip over their own feet. I love to watch  as their phone flies into a nearby puddle and everyone stops what they are doing and stares at them like they are their pathetic Aunt Judy who had too much to drink and wet herself on Thanksgiving last year. Everyone has a crazy family member like that. Judy never learns, does she? Damn it, Judy! For shame.

 I’m the self-proclaimed queen of laughing at inappropriate times. It’s not immaturity, though, right? Maybe I just have a great sense of humor. That’s it. That’s what I’m going with.

awkwardlaugh

In late June, Alex and I went on a road trip to Michigan to go to my cousin’s wedding. Honestly, I’m not close to my extended family. At all. We live far apart and I have more in common with my neighbor’s pet rabbit that eats it’s own poop than I have with the majority of them. They are nice people, though, and since we turned down the last two wedding invitations, we felt obligated to make an appearance this time. We crammed a lot of driving into a short period, and by the time the wedding ceremony rolled around… we were exhausted. I was well into the zone of being sorely overtired. When I get to that point- I have severe issues controlling myself. You know, when you’re so tired you would probably succumb to laughter even over something as lame as a popsicle-stick-joke. It’s tough for me. Really tough.

So, when the girl in the pew in front of us was audibly complaining to her mom about her tights making her underwear ride up her butt, I couldn’t help it. She was soon deep up there, digging a wedgie out for a solid minute. Fingers jammed up her butt as she danced around in place trying to get it free. I lost it. In the middle of a quiet church ceremony that was actually quite beautiful and romantic. The mood was ruined. Everyone turned and stared at me in abject horror. I could feel the death stares burning holes through my skin. It was awkward as hell. I grabbed my shit and got out of there while I still had a little self-respect left.

That was the day I came to the sad realization that I’m the Judy of my family. Not that I’ve wet myself on a holiday yet, but I’m only 29. There’s still time to accomplish that goal.theresalwaysone

 

Silver lining – maybe I won’t be invited to any more weddings.

(Random note – 16 more days left until Fall! I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of it being so hot I can’t step outside without my nipples feeling like they are roasting off. Woo, hurry up, Fall!)

adventures in awkward

I’ve been hiding lately. It started off as a small blogging break, but ended up with me hiding in the basement with nothing but my cats and a never-ending supply of Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal. I might be exaggerating a tiny bit, but when you have social anxiety it pretty much feels that way. I’ve been meaning to start posting again for over a month now, but anxiety is a middle school bully that likes to rough me up and shove my head in dirty toilets while cackling maniacally as my hair gets sucked right off my scalp. I’m here, though. Finally. Screw bullies. Sorry it took so long.waldoback

I’ve had numerous comments/emails/msgs on Twitter about my disappearance. If I’ve worried you – I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve got to know a lot of awesome people on here, and it was a dick move for me to go MIA. I’m an ass. It’s going to take me awhile to catch up with all of your blogs again, but I’m on it. Just give me a few days.

Upon finally coming back after months, I’ve also realized my email was hacked. (I think?) I don’t know much about computers, so I’m working on getting it fixed. If you’ve received spam from me, sorry. Hopefully you didn’t click any sketchy links that made it so your computer was stuck on a picture of a man jerking off. (That happened to me when I was 15. No, I wasn’t looking at porn. I had to ask my dad to fix it and he never believed me. It was painfully awkward.)

I missed all of y’all. The majority of you are 1,000 times better than the people I meet in real life. Hope you’re all doing well.

rambles

Am I the only one that gets seriously annoyed when they are corrected by random people online? I’m talking about the grammar police in all their unholy glory. Here in the “blogiverse,” (that word chaps my ass a little) it seems like everyone and their mother has an English degree and likes to shove it in the face of unsuspecting writers when they spot a mistake. What’s with that? Don’t you guys have something better to do with your time? Why leave a random comment that has nothing to do with a blog post solely to correct someone you don’t know? Am I missing something here?

smellycolons

Usually the amazing lessons from the self-appointed grammar police begin like:

“I think you meant to say…”
“Not to be rude, but…”
“My mom thinks I’m special and smart, it would be a shame not to share my knowledge…”
“I won my 8th grade spelling bee, so I’ve got the credentials to correct you…”
“I don’t get enough attention in real life, so I feel the need to make strangers feel belittled.”

News flash: nobody likes a know-it-all. You guys really are the bursting ass pimples of the internet.

/end rant.

seizuresalad

Also, I totally get annoyed by terrible grammar and spelling, so I’m not completely exempt in all of this. It’s the people that go out of their way to correct it is what drives me nuts. It always seems like people do it just to pat themselves on the back for being smart.

rambles

People in costumes make me violent. No, not your cute 5-year-olds dressed up as Pocahontas and John Smith, just the adults. It doesn’t matter if it’s women shoved into slutty nurse costumes that leave little to the imagination on Halloween, or if it’s a Chewbacca-nerd at a Star Wars convention. Either way – I’m uncomfortable. The first time I went to Disney World, two people dressed as mimes followed my sister and I around because they thought they were being funny by scaring us. I threw my half-eaten corndog at one’s eye, and dumped my drink on the other. Don’t mess with me – I’m armed with food.

I was at a birthday party this weekend for two of my nieces, and of course, there was a clown. We found ourselves alone inside while he was getting set up, so I thought it would be a good time to have an adult conversation with him.

camandmitchclown

Me: I just want to let you know in private, I’m afraid of clowns. I know it’s irrational because you’re probably just a normal guy with a family, but I felt the need to tell you. Hopefully it will help me keep my shit together today.

Clown: Hi, I’m Bozo! Being a clown is normal!  Everyone in my family is a clown and we love making people laugh, especially with our tricks! If you promise to not use potty language, I’ll make you a balloon animal! What one would you love to have?

Me: Bozo? That’s a fitting name… because you’re not getting my point. Can we just talk like normal adults? We’re alone.

Clown: Well, whatever do you mean, normal? A clown is normal, and everyone loves balloon animals!

Me: I hate you. Next time someone throws a pie in your face, I hope you choke on a rogue blueberry.

Clown: Ho ho ha ha. You’ve got quite the imagination! Want to be my very special helper today? There are bunnies involved! If you do well, you can even hold one! Isn’t that so exciting?

Me: I will kill you.

I spent the rest of the day lurking in the background of the party with a wine glass clutched close. Do you have any irrational fears? Ones that are rational? Shouldn’t clowns be illegal?

rambles

I wish depression was tangible so I could go all Lizzie Borden on its ass and swing an ax in its face 40 times. That’d be fair, right? Something has to be done because it’s not like it’s doing me any favors or anything. I’ve been hiding lately because, well… my brain has been in timeout. I should be back functioning and writing soon. There really needs to be a pause button on racing thoughts/doubt/paranoia/crazyshit so they aren’t constantly flooding our heads. All I need is a break. Is that too much to ask?

bringiton

Alex and I are desperately counting down the days until June because we have two trips planned. One is a short 3-day trip to the beach, and the other is a week-long road trip to Michigan for a wedding and family time. We are so close, yet so far. In the meantime, I found this hilarious list on Reddit about real reviews of vacations people went on. Sometimes the stupidity of people is the best way to brighten your day. They are a good reminder that, hey… at least you aren’t dumb as hell.

“They should not allow topless sunbathing on the beach. It was very distracting for my husband who just wanted to relax.”  

“The beach was too sandy. We had to clean everything when we returned to our room.” 

“No one told us there’d be fish in the water. The children were scared.”

buzzlife
“Although the brochure said that there was a fully equipped kitchen, there was no egg-slicer in the drawers.”

“I think it should be explained in the brochure that the local convenience store does not sell proper biscuits like custard cremes or ginger nuts.”

“It took us nine hours to fly home from Jamaica to England. It took the Americans only three hours to get home. This seems unfair.” 

“When we were in Spain, there were too many Spanish people there. The receptionist spoke Spanish, the food was Spanish. No one told us that there would be so many foreigners.”

“It is your duty as a tour operator to advise us of noisy or unruly guests before we travel.”

“I was bitten by a mosquito. The brochure didn’t mention mosquitoes.”

We are surrounded by geniuses, folks. Be scared.

Do you have any plans for relaxing this summer? Vacations? Staycations? Laying around on the couch like a vegetable while you stuff yourself full of ice cream and margaritas?

rambles

Last week I wrote a post that was made up of random thoughts/experiences I had during the week. I thought it went pretty well, plus I love any reason to talk about the random insanity that plagues my life so I’m going to do it again. Strap yourselves in because here we go, friends. Here. We. Go.

It’s getting hot in here – I was in Barnes & Noble the other night and there were two teens making out and groping each other in the horror section. Seems fitting, right? It made me pretty horrified. What happened to the days when kids sat in the back row of the movie theater and let their hormones rage in the dark? Keep it classy, guys. Nobody wants to see that. I was feeling particularly snarky that night, so I found a book called ‘God Is Watching You’ (or something close to that, can’t remember the exact name.) I tapped one of them on the shoulder and handed it over. They were embarrassed. I counted it as a win. Justice was served. Book stores are always an adventure (especially when you are crazy.)

funny-awful-kisses-8

Updates – The mother of the kid I kicked in the balls a few days ago dropped by this morning to offer an apology. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen this woman take an interest or responsibility in her child. She told me she has barred him from stepping foot on my property (which, hello – he shouldn’t be anyways) and if he does again to let her know. She also brought me brownies with ‘nuts’ in them. Jury’s still out if they are poisoned or not. I love me some brownies, but pretty sure I’m better off passing on these ones. It pains my heart to say no to chocolate.

Sadness – I wasn’t originally going to say anything about this, but since it’s Mental Health Awareness Week, I figured it was worth putting out there. It’s been a rough week for my in-laws (that includes my sisters/brothers-in law as well) because a childhood friend Alex grew up with committed suicide a few days ago. I didn’t know him, and I don’t know his family, so I can only imagine the devastation they are going through. I know it’s easier said than done, but please, if you are having thoughts of suicide, or just need to talk to someone – reach out. Talk to anyone. Hell, you can talk to me. Message me on Twitter and it will ping my phone. We can get through this.

adventures in awkward

Do you guys remember the post I made about the little hell-child that roams my neighborhood? The one that I forced to take a swim in dog-poop-soup in my backyard? (Jesus, if you have no idea what I’m talking about, I probably sound like the worst human being there is.) THE KID HAD IT COMING, OKAY? I’m not a monster.

If you don’t feel like clicking the link, I’ll give you a fast overview. There’s a middle-school kid who roams our cul-de-sac and has no respect for anybody’s property. He walks in unlocked houses. Goes through cars. Jumps fences and tramples on flowers. Has left chip bags and other trash in yards. The worst thing about all of it – his parents don’t give a crap no matter how many people complain about it. The kid is the spawn of Satan. Seriously. Pretty sure his mother is Satan’s side bitch.

Now that we’re caught up.

We lost power for a short time last night during a heavy thunderstorm. Usually I like storms, but when the power cuts in the middle of the night and I’m suddenly sitting there in the dark only able to hear my cat slowly licking her ass, things get creepy for me.  Here’s the following series of events:

Alex: I love you

Me: I love you way more, though

Alex: Uhh, I don’t think so.

Me: God, I hate us. We’re so sick. If I weren’t me, I’d totally want to kill us.

*Front door randomly opens and a rain-soaked person walks right into our house*

At this point, I was 100% sure this guy was, in fact, here to murder us. So I did what every classy kick-in-the-balls-funnywoman would = aimed for his nuts. I ran up, while screaming like a banshee, and punted as hard as I could before shoving the person back out the door. Alex grabbed a flashlight and, lo and behold, neighbor boy was clutching himself as he ran away.

Yep. I kicked an 11-year-old in the balls last night. I’m not sure I should find this as humorous as I do. Maybe I AM a monster. I’ve got a first-class seat on the ride to hell. Who’s joining me?

Blair = 2 Neighbor Boy = 0

 

adventures in awkward

Do you remember your parents emphasizing when you were young how necessary it was to always be honest? While, at the same time, lied day-after-day about the most important thing in your life back then? Yes, I’m talking about Santa Claus. How dare they, am I right? I remember when my classmate in first grade told me Santa was fake. My mom kept denying it, so when she asked me to get a glass of milk to leave out for Santa that night, I dumped a huge spoonful of the salt into it. That’ll show ’em to keep my happy childhood memories alive. To this day, I wonder if one of my parents actually tried it. Take that, mom & dad! Filthy liars. (Yes, I was a bitter child. Don’t judge)

I’ve been feeling guilty lately that I haven’t told anyone in my family (besides my husband) that I write a blog. I worry that it will have some sort of effect on what I write. I don’t want to be second-guessing or holding back on things I normally wouldn’t think twice about saying. Is my mom going to care that I swear on a public forum? Is my sister-in-law going to be disgusted if I post a poem dedicated to how much I love  my husband’s ass? What about my dad? SEE, THESE ARE EXACTLY THE THOUGHTS I’M TRYING TO AVOID. AHH!

funny-guilty-prisoner-smile-police

How have you handled sharing your blog (or not sharing it) with your family? Does it ever keep you from saying things you want? Does it cause you to have a bigger filter? Have you ever been ‘in trouble’ for what you’ve said? Isn’t Santa awesome?

rambles

I have a lot of random thoughts that I want to write about, but I can never actually form them into a legitimate blog post. I mean, I probably could, but I doubt anyone would want to read an entire post about the piece of chicken that I ate that I swear was in the shape of a cow. Yes, a cow. Unless you’re into reading that kind of stuff.  Chicken in the shape of beef. Don’t say you’re not impressed.  So, I figured it made more sense to combine my strange thoughts into one post. Here we go, friends…

Dessert – Last night Alex and I were having an important conversation about my extreme craving for ice cream while laying on the couch. When I yawned, one of my cats took it upon herself to sneeze in my mouth. I’m sorry to announce this, but… I might have cat-scratch-fever. Or, at the very least – Ebola. This wasn’t exactly the type of dessert I had in mind, but thanks, Pix.  You’re really helping end the stereotype that cats are assholes.

catsareassholes

Therapists – Speaking of Ebola, there’s been a recent spike in my hypochondria.  My mind has escalated the common cold into the flu, which means there’s a 98% chance I’m going to die from related complications. A pulled muscle in my hip has turned into hip dysplasia and a 99% chance I’m going to need a hip replacement at the age of 29. I thought it would be a good idea to check in with my therapist to talk about it, and she gave me some pretty solid advice I wanted to share. “Blair… just calm down.” JUST CALM DOWN, GUYS. Hey, all people suffering with depression – just be happy, okay? All anxiety sufferers – don’t worry about it! Everything is good here. People with eating disorders – it’s just a cheeseburger, eat up! (You all owe me $100 for this really solid advice. This is what my therapist charges, and clearly … she’s a freakin’ genius.)

Spiders – I’m pretty sure spiders are messengers from hell. These tiny bastards are invading North Carolina and my house is under siege. We have had our home sprayed by an exterminator, yet twice this month a wolf spider has spindled down from the ceiling right in front of my face. TWICE. One time the spider was the size of a quarter. What fresh hell is this?  How many of these things do I have to pop like a blueberry (while screaming, mind you) before the message is clearly sent? Stay away, evil bastards! There’s no room for you here.

spiderslippers

Anyone know where I can get a pair of these?

May has been a great month so far. How’s yours going?