conversations, marriage, rambles

Today I faced one of my biggest fears and got a haircut. I know. It doesn’t seem like a monumental occasion, and you’re probably thinking I’m bat-shit crazy or that I’m really a 5-year-old masquerading as the classy woman I am. But, I assure you, I am not five nor classy.

It seems like a ridiculous thing to be scared of, but when you’re socially awkward… it’s a fear that runs deep. Forced conversations with a stranger with nowhere to run? There are very few things that are as terrifying as this.ericforman

 

Hairdresser: Hi Blair, how are you doing today?

Me: Hi! My name is Blair.

Hairdresser: Ooookay… What can I do for you today?

Me: I need like six inches off with some long whispy bangs. Not too short with the bangs though. My husband thinks they are ugly. He would never tell me what to do with my hair but I don’t want him to think I’m ugly. I rely on him for things, you know. I can either get bangs from you now, or get my bang from him later.

(looks up and realizes the hairdresser has bangs)

Me: You can be the exception to the rule because yours look good. I’m sure my husband wouldn’t think you were ugly. I don’t think he’d want to bang you though. If he did I’d probably kill him. I hope you don’t take that personally.

Hairdresser: ….

Me: I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I’m just going to sit here quietly and listen to Dr. Phil until it’s time for me to give you a generous tip.

I think I deserve a cookie for getting my haircut for the first time in a year, or at least, a high-five. On top of that, I went to the doctor for the first time yesterday in six years. Imagine how awkward I am when I have to take my clothes off and have the doctor’s icy hands of death touch me.

Small victories, guys. Small victories.

guest posts

It seems like the caliber of friends I’ve met through blogging is a lot higher than the friends I have in person. That’s the best part of blogging, really – the people. All my friends want to talk about in person is their marriage, kids, work, or how long it took their mother to shovel all the boringdrinkersnow off her balcony in Maine so Fido can get out to poop in case it’s urgent. Blah blah blah blah blah. Enough is enough already! For the love of God – no more. I’d rather hang out with the majority of fellow bloggers I’ve talked to over my friends in person. Crazy, right? (Hey… I’ve given y’all fair warning that I’m weird.)

Well, I’m finally getting back to sharing guest posts that I’ve been slacking on lately. And, don’t worry – this blogger is a lot funnier than my friends in real life. So, you’re welcome. Make sure you’re you visit Lady Dickson on her blog. She is piss-your-pants-funny. Or diaper. Don’t worry… this is a judgment-free zone so we embrace all differences.

Let’s get on with it then:


 

In 2013, my husband and I went on a 6 month tour of Europe. On our stop in Portugal, we decided “hey, let’s go to Morocco since it’s right there” and off to Morocco we did. Gotta love last minute decisions like that. Here’s the thing, I’ve been to third world. I went to Thailand in 2008 and it was a friggin blast. But this seemed like a completely different kind of third world. Whilst in Thailand, I could use the public bathrooms whenever I wanted without paying. Coming over to Morocco, and a lot of Europe I might add, I had to start paying to urinate.

What the fuck is this nonsense. I ate your food, I drank your water, I paid my bill, and now you want me to pay to extract all dis bidniz you supplied out of my body? That shit cray.

Naturally, as I am not used to doing so, I forget to bring my change purse with me to the bathroom of this one rooftop restaurant located in the centre of Marrakesh. Thankfully, there was no one on guard to give money to so I figured this was a rare free washroom. SCORE. I know where I’m coming from now on to drop trou.

During my healthy dump, I hear a woman screaming at someone in Arabic and think “oh man, I would hate to get yelled at in a language I don’t know.” Turns out, she was yelling at me but I was completely clueless of it. The second I stepped out of the stall, she was all up in my grill pointing at her dish beside the door. Naturally, I looked like a deer caught in headlights and threw my hands in air and kept repeating “I don’t know what you’re saying…” Obviously, I needed to leave some money in the dish beside the door.

MY BAD.

Now I had to somehow tell her I don’t have money on me.

Me: I don’t have any money on me.
Woman yelling in Arabic.
Me: I don’t….have any…money on me. *flipping my pockets inside out*
Woman yelling in Arabic.
Me: Not…sure where to go from here.

So I just try to leave but she barricades herself against the door. Perfect, this is going well. I just fold my arms, look at her, and tap my foot on the ground. With how long this is taking, my husband must be thinking I am murdering this toilet.

Finally, I had enough of this. I started screaming my husbands name in a zero percent passionate way. I mean, this was not the womans fault. Some white chick who doesn’t know how to follow the rules popped a squat all willy nilly and girlfriend needs to get PAID. I was willing to pay her, I JUST NEEDED MY GODDAMN COIN PURSE.

After screaming my husbands name for about a minute, she finally gives in. She moves out of the way and lets me out of the bathroom. As I’m leaving, she starts yelling at me again and I just sprint up the stairs to the roof, grab my husband and we gone.

My coin purse never left my side after that..

ladydicksonRight before the hostage shituation.

things that matter

10yearsI was recently contacted by an inspiring woman named Heather Von St. James who, a decade ago, was told by doctors that she only had 15 months left to live. She wasn’t asking me for money or gifts, she simply wanted her story shared to raise awareness and inspire hope.  Her story resonated with me, and so does her message, so even though this isn’t my typical humor post – I hope you’ll continue reading her story.

In 2005, Heather was diagnosed with Mesothelioma caused by asbestos exposure when she was a kid. Her cancer wasn’t caused by smoking, drinking, or anything thought to be menacing – she was simply a little girl who liked to put on a coat her father wore to his construction job. To make matters worse – the diagnosis came a mere handful of months after giving birth to her daughter. She heard the news that so many people fear –  she only had 15 months left to live. (Can you imagine coming face-to-face with death? The possibility you would not only leave your husband behind… but you would miss out on your daughter’s life?) Along with chemo, Heather braved a terrifying, yet successful, surgery to remove her left lung. She has coined the day of her surgery (February 2nd)  ‘Lung Leavin’ Day‘ and she celebrates the anniversary every year.

LLD_plateLung Leavin’ Day is all about facing your fears and not letting them control you. I can only imagine what Heather felt. The fear of dying and leaving her family behind. That her daughter would be without a mother. Having the money for treatment. Whether or not the surgery would be successful. Every year she, along with friends and family, celebrate Lung Leavin’ Day on February 2nd by writing their fears on plates and smashing them into a fire. This year, Alex and I are joining her.

Truthfully, neither of us have ever been through anything as scary or traumatic as Heather, but there’s no doubt we have our own fears. Rather than writing them on a plate and smashing it, we opted for lighting a paper plate on fire. There’s something very calming and cathartic about seeing your fears go up in flames.

Guys, life is too short to be controlled by fear and things that aren’t in our control. Be thankful for what you have. What you’ve had in the past. And for every day that you have here.

lungleavinday2016 Here’s our burning plate. My #1 fear? Infertility. Alex’s? Failure. 

There is a lot more to Heather’s story than what I wrote in this summary.
Visit her page here where she goes into detail about her cancer diagnosis and recovery.
– Want to smash a plate without lighting a fire? Visit her interactive page to smash a virtual plate.
– Visit mesothelioma.com to learn more about this deadly form of cancer.

guest posts

Get your fat pants on and lose those shirts, people … it’s time to let your nipples free for WTF Wednesday! Wooooo. Okay, that’s not really a thing. It just seemed like it would be fitting for this post. I think you’ll agree after you finish reading. (With the ‘what the fuck.’ Probably not the nipples. Nipples really have nothing to do with anything. Sorry, pervs.)

I’m excited to share a post written by an awesome blogger ’round these parts – Charlotte Graham (go on and visit her – I’ll wait.) I’m going to go out on a limb here, and say – if we knew each other in person we would probably be best friends (until I scared her away, at least.) She’s a runner, gamer, Panthers fan, writer, and a nerd with style. Girl crush alert. (I can say that without it being creepy, right? Since I’m married? Right?!) Let’s get on with it, then!


 

Today while walking to work I found an abandoned voodoo doll on a park bench. True story. If it weren’t negative a billion degrees outside and if I had actually been able to feel my fingers, I would have snapped a photo. Alas.

But, the day was soon to be filled with even more creepy dolls, when a friend posted the following on Facebook:

CharlotteGraham
​Creepy AF, amirite?!

My first question when I saw this was, “do parents really save all their kids’ baby teeth??” I had always just assumed that dear old Mom and Dad threw them in the trash once the Tooth Fairy made her rounds. I mean really, if you’re a parent and you hang onto your kids’ teeth and don’t do something weird like this with them, what do you do? Present them all in a fancy box upon your child’s 18th birthday? Here ya go, son. I thought about getting you a car for graduation. But here are your baby teeth instead!

But now apparently you can turn those baby teeth into a scary-ass doll!

Now, I’m not a parent, so far be it from me to say if this would actually be sentimental were it my child’s leftover baby teeth — but damn!

I think dolls in general are creepy, but these human teeth monster dolls take it to a whole new level. Folks, this is what I like to call Grade A Nightmare Fuel. Have fun sleeping tonight.


 

Guys, this should go without saying – teeth monster plushies are not okay. 

cat lady chronicles, tuesday trivia

Fun Fact: Americans spend more money on pets in a year than Germany spends on its entire defense budget.

Damn right we do! Let’s face it… animals are better catvshumansthan people. There’s no chance Fido is going to hit on your husband and tell your mutual friends that he plans to grab his ass and pretend it was an accident. I doubt Lady Meowington gives a shit if you roll out of bed with Cheeto dust in your hair because you haven’t bothered to shower for a few days. She’d probably like you even more.

People suck. So… go on friends. Go out and buy a heated pet bed. Some specialty food. Spend $200+ dollars on a tree your cat is going to rip to shreds. A pink tutu for your dog. Okay, don’t do that last one. Dogs shouldn’t be in tutus. Seriously… don’t. You copy?

(I have an off topic question – have any of you gone from wordpress.com to .org? Did you have issues? Did you lose your followers? Comments? Do you still have access to the WP Reader? Yes, I’m slow and terrible with computers. Help a girl out!)

cat lady chronicles, giveaways, things that matter

Everyone who wished me a happy birthday: thank you. Seriously. You guys kick so. much. ass. A lot of you said amazingly kind things to me, and I was really touched. And I don’t mean the creepy touching that my pervy cousin subjects me to every time we have a reunion hug that lasts a little too long. He’s a lingerer. I enjoyed this touching. It was nice. 

I’ve learned a lot about you guys from your giveaway submissions:
– Some of you are kind enough to open your house to foster cats (and dogs) and are helping them transition to their new homes.
– Some of you have taken in 3,4,5+ strays as the weather takes its turn towards winter. (including two people who are currently housing pregnant cats, and are playing a significant role in the welfare of her kittens)
– A lot of you are animal rescuers and have given your cats an amazing and new chance at life.
– Some of you have recently had pets pass away, and want to donate the prize in their memory.
– I’ve had people ask me, if their name was drawn, to sell the prize and donate the money to the SPCA instead.
– People have asked me how they can purchase the crocheted toys I make because they want to help benefit the SPCA. (I’m actually in the process of setting up an Etsy shop where all profits will be donated to the SPCA. I’ve just been delayed a bit!)

I’m never serious on this blog, but I wanted to point out that there are some really awesome bloggers on here. People who have big hearts, and lots of love to share. Your generosity is a great reminder of what’s good in the world. I’ve read and loved all of your stories, and appreciate everything you guys have done. Thank you. I wish I could share some wine and a piece of my birthday cake with you guys. (Well, maybe a bite. Cake is important to a girl.)

If you haven’t entered yet, and want to do so, go here: Cat-Crazy Giveaway You can still enter through the end of Saturday (11:59 pm EST)

pixandziggy