rambles

In 2014, I ghosted my best friend of 15 years. You know, totally fell of the face of the Earth and dropped all forms of contact with her. I’m not proud of it. There is no denying this is the coward’s way out. But sometime’s you’ve gotta gotta fight fire with fire when you’re dealing with toxic people, and in this case, fighting with fire means doing some totally cool and unnerdy magic tricks and making myself disappear. Abracadabra!

toxicpeople

(Photo credit goes to littlebiddy. Go check out their blog!)

I was trying to end my friendship with her years ago… and then she got engaged to my brother. Awkward, right? It wasn’t worth it  to put my entire family at war with each other, so I dealt with her. Even when she broke into my house. Then again when she stole money from me. I even shrugged it off when she told me she had a thing for my dad. (100% true. Sick, isn’t it?) When they called their engagement off, she told me, “It’s no big deal. I’m realizing now I didn’t care about being married to your brother, I just wanted to be part of your family so bad.” Her obsession with my family still gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Part of me wishes I went about it more maturely. Part of me wishes I was more outspoken about it. Part of me doesn’t regret it at all. This chick was toxic and brought out the worst in me. It was pure insanity.

Life is just too short for some of this bullshit.

Some people just shouldn’t be in your life, you know? Have you ever been ghosted? Ghosted someone? Had someone date your sibling or want to bang your dad? Cringe

(PS – The majority of people don’t deserve to be ghosted. People deserve closure. Unless they steal your shit and break into your house, do them a favor and just let them know why you don’t like them and honor them by telling them to piss off. Being up front always works.)

rambles

When I got my oil changed today the man at the counter would barely acknowledge my presence. He unwillingly listened to me while typing my information into the computer, then proceeded to thank my husband at the end of it. ‘Thank you, sir, for the information and bringing your car in today!’ (So polite, right?) Alex didn’t answer one question. Not one. What in the absolute hell is going on here? Are boobs the secret to invisibility? Did I just discover something new?

It took everything in my power to keep from springing over the counter and putting my fist to his jugular. Or, at the very least, poking him in the eye with my girly manicured fingernail. Sexist asshole.

dawson-is-a-sexist-jerk

In other news, I’ll finally be moving to my new self-hosted domain soon. I’ve been putting it off for over a month because I’m afraid to lose y’all but… it’s time. In case I do fall off the face of the Earth for a few days, you will be able to find me here: www.theshamefulsheep.com . I’ll let you guys know when it’s up and running!

rambles

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

rambles

While I was reaching for some of my prized Chobani yogurt in the grocery store the other day, a random man grabbed my ass. Believe me when I say – it took all of the willpower I could muster to refrain from turning around and crushing his balls so hard they looked like deflated tomatoes with their guts oozing out. What a prick, right? I looked for Alex to defend my honor but he wandered off and had been lost in the beer aisle at that point. Damn it!

tomatoballs

I’m not sure why anyone would think touching a random person would be a great start to any sort of ‘relationship.’ Especially when one person was wearing a blatantly obvious wedding ring (as I was!) Did he expect me to just escort him to the bathroom and drop my panties for him? Or that we would start a long-lasting and loving relationship from some unwelcome groping? I mean, seriously…has any woman (or man, really) ever had a positive response to something like this? Where the fuck do people get the nerve to grab people?! So many questions, so little answers. 

People, it is never okay to touch a stranger. Don’t grab their ass. Don’t grab their arm. Don’t even poke them. Not. Okay. You copy? Just don’t. ‘Hey, Chobani kicks ass, so you must too’ is a much better ice breaker. Plus, your balls will have a much better chance of making it through the shopping trip without being harmed.

marriage, rambles, things that matter

Earlier today my morning breath was so bad it made my husband gag. Rather than let me go get my shit in order he took some few deep breaths and powered through. Gotta respect a person who can deal with your gross qualities even when it tastes like a rat wiped its ass with your tongue. I know, I’m ruining the picture in your mind of how glamorous my life is. This is the sad reality, folks. You better believe it. (Don’t judge – your breath in the morning isn’t minty fresh either. Who’re you trying to fool?)

spongebobbreath

I’ve been trying to look at the things in life that make me happy because it makes me a more thankful person. You know, just the small things. Like my cats loving me so much they drop a cockroach on my pillow in the middle of the night. Or, even though I repulse Alex to the point of gagging sometimes, he will still go see Zootopia and share some Skittles and a blue slushie with me. (Yes, I’m a 29-year-old child.) I’m even thankful for my niece who told me I should probably step away from said Skittles because I need some help before bathing suit season. Thanks for the brutal honesty, kid.

When life takes a shit on you and you’re wading through a rough patch, it’s nice to remember the small stuff. Even if the great things you have are cloaked in unexpected disguises. You’ll just have to look a bit harder.

rambles, things that matter

I’ve always lived by the idea that humor can turn the shittiest of situations around. Obviously it can’t cure extreme circumstances like cancer, but at least it can lighten a mood even if for a few minutes. It’s helped me get out of some dark times so I try to keep my blog posts along these guidelines to keep the train moving in a positive direction. My last post strayed from the ‘course’ and this one will stray a bit too.

I knew I’d regret it almost instantly after publishing my last post about being overwhelmed by the prospect of voting this year. It’s the first time I’ve actually considered deleting a post but decided against it. While the majority of people who commented were intensely passionate, thank you for not going all bat-shit-crazy on me. A lot of your comments made me realize the error of my ways and I will be registering to vote. I appreciate your long and thoughtful responses and your opinions. But there is no way in goddamn fucking hell, I will ever stand by and smile at personal threats and attacks.

fuckyoutoo

I’ve received multiple emails and have read multiple posts people have made on their own blog as a response to mine. Some have called me a ‘retard.’ Some say I’m a piece of shit. Some tell me they wished I would die. Some tell me being overwhelmed by the candidates this year is like being a kindergartner having a temper-tantrum. You guys could have just had a conversation with me like an adult and kept it classy. What the fuck? I actually respected a few of these people as writers. Sad. If, from now on, you have something to say to me and you want me to actually give a shit about your opinion, all you have to do is be kind. Common sense, people. It’s really not that fucking hard. I mean, seriously, how can you expect people to actually respect your opinion when you attack and insult them?

Anyways, this will be my last serious post. Back to humor from now on. Thanks to everyone for coming along on this terrible off-the-tracks train ride. The majority of you are cool as hell.

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.