As an adult, sometimes I dread having to make important decisions. Unfortunately, whether we want to or not, everyone has to do it. It comes with the territory. Like today, after a painstaking hour of determining what the right thing to do was, I decided to turn down going to a “chili challenge” in favor of going running. (You know, those awesome festivals where you leave with a food baby in your stomach after you pack down 15 different flavors of the same food. This is what I imagine heaven is like.)
After I started the run, I had instant regret. It was cold, rainy, muddy, and it left me wanting something hot and comforting. Just like…. chili. Damn it. Screw you, adulthood. Stop trying to make me more responsible.
Which one would you choose? Chili tasting or a run? Relaxing or productive? It’s a hard call to make on a Sunday.
On a totally different note: I’m in the process of changing the title, domain, layout, etc. of my blog. It’s going to be some variation of “The Shameful Sheep.” Please keep your eyes peeled, guys. I don’t want to lose any of y’all.
Yesterday I had the pleasure of spending hundreds of dollars on plane tickets to attend the upcoming wedding of a cousin I haven’t spoken to in probably a decade. Now, I don’t want to sound like a Bitter Betty. I like to see people happy and in love. (Hell, I’m happy and in love and make people suffer through it. It’s only fair.) It’s simply because I don’t get the social convention of weddings. (I’m starting to feel a bit Sheldon Cooper-y, now.) I know. I’m a woman. What the hell?
I’m 100% aware that I stand in the minority on this, so bear with me. I’m not trying to offend anyone. (If you get offended anyways, that’s okay) But, I just can’t wrap my mind around the amount of money people spend on a few hours. Obviously, this doesn’t apply to those lucky jerks who don’t have to worry about it. Screw you, by the way. (kidding, kidding)
I got to be part of the happiest day of my friend’s life last year. Woohoo. When we were getting ready she cried for an hour because the linens she ordered were off one shade of pink. Her flood of tears caused her mascara to run. It got onto her dress. When she couldn’t get the stain out a full on toddler-style meltdown ensued. She didn’t like the way her mom’s hair was styled so she ripped it out and went on a rampage and threw shit everywhere. I’m serious. (Needless to say, this shit show helped it become my favorite wedding thus far) Isn’t this supposed to be a great memory? How is being this high-strung count as fun? Was all of this worth $30,000? I just don’t get it.
Yes, I’m married. We got married in Vegas. The money my parents set aside for our wedding was given to us for a down-payment on a house instead. I just couldn’t let all that money be wasted on a big party. How boring and practical, right? Blah. Even I hate us.
So, I’ve come to the realization that I’m extremely weird and just may be failing at being a female. Well… you win some, you lose some, you know?
Fun Fact: Rats laugh when they are tickled.
I wonder how weird the Petco employees would think I am if I told them I wasn’t there to purchase anything. Only to tickle their rats. Think they’d let me, or call security? Maybe I just need to take a trip to NYC.
At least I found a new goal to accomplish in November.
They are kinda cute, right? Maybe a little bit?
It’s November. The month of attaining odd goals. Not only is my husband going for the hobo-chic look by not shaving his beard, it also seems like everyone is crapping-their-pants-excited over the start of NaNoWriMo. I don’t plan on being the next bearded lady or starting a novel. So, here I am — just existing. Plopped on the couch with my cat in over-sized sweats, staring at the TV and wondering how long it’s going to take for my candy-induced bloat to go away. What a life.
Truthfully, I love November now that I live in North Carolina. But, in a November snowstorm in New York five years ago, I totaled my car in a very scary accident. Please make sure you stay safe this winter, guys… don’t let the roads make you their bitch like they did to me.
And, good luck with your novel writing, beard growing, and candy digesting. Each equally important, you know.
I’ve never been a big fan of Halloween. I’m pretty sure I’m flying solo on that feeling, considering everyone I know on Facebook has currently stuffed themselves into a costume that barely fits and leaves little to the imagination. (Really… some things are better left unseen, people. Don’t go in public and let your bits and pieces flop around in the breeze.)
But, this year I decided I would give Halloween a chance. I got the candy to hand out. I got the pumpkins to carve for the first time ever. And, damn… after a few hours of fishing pumpkin guts out and carving with Alex — I was proud when I set them outside.
Then, I checked on them a few days later. On top of the pumpkins being completely moldy (that’s not snow)… half of the candy is gone already, too.
I tried to give you a chance, Halloween… but all you’ve done so far is leave me sad and fat. I guess I should just hide inside with the lights off, peering over the flashlight like a crazy person again this year.
(Really, though… I can’t be the only one who doesn’t like Halloween… or am I truly that much of an oddball?)
Also, a note to cat owners: please, please, please make sure your black cats (or any outdoor cats) are brought inside. There are some sick assholes out there.
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.
Fun Fact: The FDA estimates that the average human unintentionally eats up to a pound of bugs a year.
yum… did someone say extra protein?
Also, it’s come to my attention today is National Black Cat Day in the UK. I’m from the US… but, I have a cat. She is black. So, I’m going to force y’all to look at a picture of her anyway. You’re welcome.
I woke up yesterday feeling like I was upchucked by Satan… which, I can’t say I was too disappointed about. It gave me a legitimate reason to do nothing but be a lazy sack all day. Score! But, as I laid here in a mush of blankets with tissues corkscrewed into nose (sexy, eh?) I discovered two things:
- I never add pictures to my posts. What the hell? That’s boring and something that needs to be changed.
- Too much cold medicine makes you do weird things.
So… here’s a picture of my husband trying to shove himself into a pet carrier.
Why, you ask? Because why the hell not.
I gotta say, I’m pleasantly surprised by how few domestic disputes I saw at the State Fair today. Good job everyone, let’s fight off those southern stereotypes. One fried food festival at a time…
If you feel the need to berate and make an employee cry just because their store doesn’t carry your beloved organic, sugar-free, no-crap-added cranberry juice you deserve to have your ass kicked. Seriously. Aren’t there more pressing things going on in your life than juice? If not, kudos to you. But come on, guys… it doesn’t cost anything to not be a dick to strangers. Or to walk your ass to the other end of the shopping center and go to Trader Joe’s. The majority of us don’t enjoy making or watching other people cry in public, so get your shit straight or order your stuff online and stay home. It’d be appreciated.
The Public At Large