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.

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?

adventures in awkward

I live in state that’s very much despised by the rest of the country right now. North Carolina. Go on, get your gasps out. Grip your children close and shield their eyes. You don’t want to catch these cooties. Truthfully, I haven’t been paying much attention to the uproar over the ‘bathroom law’ that’s been plastered on the news but it slapped me in the face this afternoon when I least expected it.

If you’ve been around here for awhile, I’ve made it pretty clear I have an undying love for Target and the ability to get an overpriced latte and traipse around the aisles for hours looking at crap NOBODY needs. (No, not even you. Step away from the discounted pair of Easter bunny ears.) I went there this afternoon to try to find a Mother’s Day gift, but I ran into an angry bunch of crazies waiting for unsuspecting customers at the store’s entrance.

morans

Crazy Woman: You shouldn’t shop in Target… they aren’t interested in keeping women and children safe.

Me: Say what now?

Crazy: The company supports transgender people using whatever bathroom they want! Can you believe that? It’s an outrage! Men will be allowed into the women’s bathroom!

Me: One time I used the men’s bathroom because I couldn’t hold it. It was disgusting in there. Like someone threw up on top of a dead raccoon and let it fester in the hot sun for a week while crows pecked its eyes out. I gotta tell you… I died a little inside. How do men deal with it? I’ll never know….

Crazy: That’s totally different, though. It’s not the same as a man in a woman’s bathroom. How can you not see that? Are you stupid? This is important and you’re acting like it’s a joke. You’re an embarrassment to America and the foundation it was built on.

Me: Oh, yeah…. I’m the embarrassment to America. Right.

WHAT is going on in this country? How is calling a stranger stupid acceptable? How is saying it’s okay for women to do something but not men? What is it in my personality that attracts crazy people? Since my therapist prescribes me something to keep my own crazy away, can she prescribe me something to keep other crazy people away too?

It’s getting harder and harder to leave the house with anxiety nowadays.

adventures in awkward

There’s nothing worse than having your in-law’s dog throw up on you while you’re enjoying some syrup-covered bacon. Until he proceeds to eat the dog-food-puke chunks off of you and all you can get yourself to do in that moment is scream in abject terror. Of course, if I didn’t take the time to look at Alex with a bitchy stare and say ‘this is why I don’t want a dog!’ he wouldn’t have had time to eat it again. So, touchè, universe. Touchè. Happy Sunday!

An hour or so later the dog threw up again (not on me this time, thankfully) and the cycle started to repeat itself. Pretty sure this is a metaphor for my life. Even when I know something will have a bad outcome, at times I lack some necessary self control to stay away from it. Like when I eat bacon while I’m trying to work on my health or pick my nose even though I almost always feel crushing embarrassment when I’m caught red green-handed. Will I ever learn or will I be stuck in a puke-eating cycle for the rest of my life like poor Fido? guiltydog

So, we’re finally on my self-hosted site. I hope everything is in order and shows up correctly. Let me know if there’s any sort of difference you notice and I’ll try to get it fixed. I’m not sure if people are getting alerts to when I like/reply back to a comment or not, but everything else seems to be in good order. Thanks for hanging with me.

If we’ve previously talked through email, I don’t have that address anymore. The new one is : blair@theshamefulsheep.com

There will be more changes to the site as time goes on, this is just the beginning 🙂 I have some plans in mind!

adventures in awkward

Saturday morning my niece thought it would be hilarious to pants me at our family brunch in the middle of talking to my father-in-law. Yep, there I was… standing, minding my own business and talking about how easy it was to make sloppy joes… and down came the pants. I wasn’t sure if I should be more embarrassed by the fact I hadn’t shaved above the knee in a few days, or that my underwear had cat whiskers on it. Either way – mortifying. You’re welcome for the show, Dad. Me-ow.

For some reason my nieces and nephews don’t look at me like I’m a 30-year-old adult, but rather a very large child. Which means any time they are around I’m usually limping around the house pretending to be a purple giraffe that got it’s leg run over by a rogue safari Jeep or something along those lines. It’s better than wine and cheese, really. It’s fun. It’s crazy. It’s a goddamn blessing. It saves me from a lot of awkwardly boring small talk. (Social anxiety’s mortal enemy.) Who the hell wants to spend family time talking about politics and car issues anyway? I’m good on that, thanks.

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Pro-tip to my fellow adult-sized children: wear a belt. Nobody want’s to see your kitty’s whiskers.

Hope y’all have a good weekend and are successful in keeping your pants on. Unless, well, you know

(PS- Sorry if you got the ‘new post’email twice. I posted it on accident yesterday when I wanted to post it today. Forgive me! I hate when people repost their same blogs over and over just to get more views, so I feel ya. It won’t happen again, folks)