adventures in awkward

Remember when the hardest decision you’d have to face all day was what flavor Kool-Aid you wanted to have? It was an important choice, fueled by the fear that if you didn’t pick the right one it wouldn’t complement the taste of your Flintstone’s vitamins. I ate those like crack when I was a kid. When my mom wasn’t looking I’d crawl onto the counter and steal an entire handful and shove them into my grubby little mouth. She caught me once, and moved them to a place where I couldn’t reach no matter how hard I tried. That was the first time I remember wishing that fire would rain down on her. How dare she do such a thing! The nerve of that woman.

flintstones

Yesterday Alex and I were having a lengthy conversation about Hot Pockets. I know… wtf, right? We talk about some random shit in my house. Hot Pockets aren’t exempt. When I was a kid, I thought Hot Pockets were the best invention. I even wrote a small report on them for school about their greatness. I thought that they were packaged in something that would, quite literally, keep them hot while they were in your pocket. Great for people who wanted a snack while they were in class or people who couldn’t take a break at work. I was amazed. What a genius idea.

So, I didn’t grow up wanting to be a ballerina or a veterinarian. I grew up wanting to work for whoever made Hot Pockets. My parents wanted me to aim high. So I did.

buzzlightyearkids

I love the innocence of childhood. Luckily, I’m surrounded by young nieces and nephews to remind me how great life is when you’re young. Actually, I’m going to leave y’all with a joke my 4-year-old niece told me last weekend that had her rolling around in laughter.

A hippo put on a purple coat.

 

…….. I wish I was as funny as her.

Also, Happy (late) Mother’s Day to all the Mom’s that read here. Y’all are strong, kickass women. I raise my invisible morning mimosa to you!

adventures in awkward

When I was young there was a woman who lived across the street from me that I had on good authority to be a witch. She lived in a small one-story house closed in by a tall wooden fence with paint chipping off, and covered in a shade of pine trees. Let’s be real here – she scared the ever-living shit out of me and all of the other kids I knew. Theories flooded the neighborhood, and when you’re an impressionable six-year-old, it’s not a big leap into believing she killed her husband and let her dog eat his corpse in some sort of sadistic ritual. I was convinced. Every time I saw her walking her massive German Shepherd down the street, I clutched my Cabbage Patch Kid, hid, and sent out a few prayers. She frightened me so much I’d start crying if I was alone outside, or if I thought she caught me through a window. It was a truly terrifying time. She was my Boo Radley.

I’ve had an ongoing issue with one of the neighborhood kids in my cul-de-sac. I’ve posted about him before – making him swim in dog-poop-water, and kicking him in the balls one night when he walked – without knocking – in my front door. To sum it up, he’s a kid that has no respect for anybody and has asshole parents that don’t pay attention to him. I haven’t had much issue with him lately, except for the fact he leaves shit in my yard all the time even after I ask him multiple times to move them. So, I decided to start storing them in my garage for him, you know, so they don’t get ruined. I wouldn’t want his pretty new bike to get rusted or something, right? Okay, I’m a petty thief. I’ll admit it.  I noticed him yesterday evening knocking on every person’s door but mine looking for his bike. He would glance over towards our house, but he was too afraid to come ask. I even went outside to get the mail, giving him a chance to talk to me in a neutral area, but he scurried away inside the second I started to emerge.

This kid literally ran away from me and was willing to give up his new bike just so he didn’t have to talk to me. That’s pretty bad. So, I’ve come to the sad realization that I am somebody’s Boo Radley, too. I don’t know if I should take it as an honor, or feel bad about it. Am I that crazy that the townsfolk are scared of me? Should I try to make nice with these kids, or ride it out until Halloween and  try to scare them so much it’ll be a night they’ll never forget? What do I do with this great power?

(Don’t worry, this morning I wheeled his bike back to his front yard. I didn’t actually intend on keeping it.)

On another note – today is my 3-year-anniversary for signing up on WordPress. Woo! Granted, I didn’t start actually blogging until months after that.

adventures in awkward

When I was eight I befriended the weirdest girl in the neighborhood. You know, the type that all the other girls ignore and whisper about in their bedrooms while they rip  their Barbie’s heads off and stuff them down their tops pretending they magically sprout a set of boobs overnight. Having boobs is all the rage according to my young nieces (and all the men in my life, for that matter) … didn’t you know?  

I met Shelby one summer in Massachusetts when she was selling lemonade in front of her house. I was pretty shy as a kid but I approached her for a very specific reason – she was wearing a furry purple bunny costume. I knew right away I had to know this girl. Shelby was stunning with red curly hair and green eyes that were reminiscent of the sea glass I liked to collect from the shores of Cape Cod. Over the two years we were friends, I think I only saw her face a couple of times. She loved her bunny costume, and when people asked her about it, her response was always ‘because I’m a bunny… why wouldn’t I dress like one?’  She didn’t care about the incredulous stares from adults in the stores, or the ridicule she got from the little shitheads in school. Shelby was strange. Shelby was different. Shelby was a bunny.  Shelby was fucking Shelby.  She taught me such a crucial lesson at a young age –  to be proud of the things that made me weird and to never  hide them. To embrace the different.  I think about her often.

donniedarko

(Imagine my horror when I saw Donnie Darko years later.)

Where are the Shelbys of the world now? Why isn’t it okay for someone to be different? Why is it so hard to celebrate people who don’t live the same way we do? Damn, we don’t even have to celebrate them… but we could at least be kind enough to keep our shitty opinions to ourselves. I don’t care if you have pink hair, a face tattoo, you accidentally got pregnant at 15, or you’re attracted to someone of the same gender. It has zero effect on my life. Are you a good person? That’s really the only thing that people should care about.  Apparently all of America needs to have a meeting with an eight-year-old in a bunny costume. Where the hell is Shelby when you need her? Will the real Slim Shelby please stand up? We need you to save mankind.

I haven’t been around here for awhile. I hope everyone’s holiday season has kicked off in a positive/happy direction. I know some people are having a shitty month (especially because of the election) but I hope everything else is good with y’all. Next week we will all be able to stuff our feelings down with food. Bring on the holiday cheesecakes!

rambles

Remember in junior high when your science teacher made you tack open the stomach of a frog so you could poke and prod at insides with a rusty scalpel? (Who trusts a bunch of kids with raging hormones in the midst of puberty with a weapon anyway? Doesn’t seem very smart.) Most people didn’t mind, but I was one of the kids who stood in the corner clutching my Lisa Frank pencil box instead, because… animal rights, hello?  I wouldn’t touch that frog with a ten-foot-pole. My parents were so proud of me taking such a strong stance for my beliefs even though they thought I was overreacting. They took me out to dinner and bought a cake with pink lettering boldly stating  “we’re so proud of you.” Guys, I really didn’t give a flying fuck about that frog. I just thought it was disgusting. Thanks for the cake though, mom.

kermitdissection

Later the same year another teacher had their class dissect a fish. My friends regaled me with tales of how crunchy the eyeballs were when stabbed and how the female fish had eggs spill out when cut open. I was appalled. Disgusted. But nothing was more mortifying than when they told me that one of the boys in their class kept a bag of fish guts to put into someone’s food at lunch. Poor Evan… he never had a chance when he bit into that sandwich. I guess that’s what he gets for picking friends that were certifiable pricks.

Choose your friends wisely. Don’t stick yourself with people who will think it’s funny to stash rotting guts into your egg salad or blow snot into your diet Coke. Life is too short to be friends with assholes. 

kermijail

Also – kids are assholes. 

rambles, things that matter

When I was young I convinced the other kids in my neighborhood that my dad invented farting. I had one hell of an imagination back then. I thought it was a fun game to see what absurd shit I could convince other kids of. (Kids will believe anything so, why not? Fun for everyone.) For days, every time they saw my dad they’d laugh and congratulate him on his great discovery. He had no idea what was going on so he’d just stand there and awkwardly stare at them like they were walking around with a foot growing out of their faces. The ruse went on for awhile until my sister finally told them it was impossible for someone to invent a bodily function and that I was just fucking with them. She thought it was important I remained honest. I was pissed and hated her for ruining my fun. That bitch.

daeneryswomanMy sister has always looked out for me and tried to keep me on the right path. Even going as far as smelling my armpits to make sure I really did put deodorant on when I said I did. Or being the one to teach me how to shave my legs. She is by far the most badass and influential person that I know. Even though I’m a day late for International Women’s Day, it doesn’t even matter. She’s celebrated in my mind every day.

Thanks, Moe, for smelling my armpits and telling the neighbors that we aren’t heiresses to the fortune of fart discovery. 

(Random question – I’m thinking of making a new header for my site, but I’m terrible at doodling. If any of you are good at drawing and interested in doing a simple doodle for me, email me at theshamefulsheep@gmail.com if you want to work something out)

rambles

Remember when the hardest decision you’d have to face all day was what flavor Kool-Aid you wanted to have? It was an important choice, fueled by the fear that if you didn’t pick the right one, it wouldn’t complement the taste of your Flintstone’s vitamins. I ate those like crack when I was a kid. When my mom wasn’t looking I’d crawl onto the counter and steal an entire handful and shove them into my grubby little mouth. She caught me once, and moved them to a place where I couldn’t reach no matter how hard I tried. That was the first time I remember wishing that fire would rain down on her. How dare she do such a thing! The nerve of that woman.

flintstones

Yesterday Alex and I were having a lengthy conversation about Hot Pockets. I know… wtf, right? We talk about some random shit in my house. Hot Pockets aren’t exempt. When I was a kid, I thought Hot Pockets were the best invention. I even wrote a small report on them for school about their greatness. I thought that they were packaged in something that would,quite literally, keep them hot while they were in your pocket. Great for people who wanted a snack while they were in class or people who couldn’t take a break at work. I was amazed. What a genius idea.

So, I didn’t grow up wanting to be a ballerina or a veterinarian. I grew up wanting to work for whoever made Hot Pockets. My parents wanted me to aim high. So I did.

buzzlightyearkids

I love the innocence of childhood. Luckily, I’m surrounded by young nieces and nephews to remind me how great life is when you’re young. Actually, I’m going to leave y’all with a joke my 4-year-old niece told me last weekend that had her rolling around in laughter.

A hippo put on a purple coat.

 

 

…….. I wish I was as funny as her.

 

rambles

Ever have one of those days?  You know, the kind where you get to finally find out what urine tastes like, and take a knuckle-puck to the face? Unfortunately, I have. A ‘knuckle-puck’ is not a clever way of saying I was punched. I’m talking about a Mighty-Ducks-inspired hockey shot that drove a puck, courtesy of my brother, right into the cheek of a sad, awkward 8-year-old clutching a Cabbage Patch Kids lunchbox. If you haven’t heard of The Mighty Ducks: you suck and there’s simply no way we can go on being friends any longer. We’re done. (Okay, I’m only joking.) I don’t think I’ve ever even eluded to the fact that I have an older brother. But, he does exist, and he was being an asshole that day. Now, I will say in his defense – I don’t think he  was actually aiming at me. Or… that’s what I like to tell myself, at least.

It was winter in Connecticut at the time. When I ran inside crying to my mom, she sent me back out to lay in the snow. She wasn’t going to let me use the frozen peas she paid for to rest on my bruise when there was free snow just laying around everywhere outside. C’mon, now. 

monstersincsnowcone

This is where a shitty situation turned, well… pissy. All I can say is: don’t believe it when someone tells you yellow snow is just extra lemonade they dumped out earlier in the day. My 8-year-old self can assure you – it’s not. 

It was a rough day. Boys, I tell ya.

conversations, rambles

You know how parents are ultra embarrassing when you’re growing up? Maybe it’s their undying love of Birkenstocks, or when they try to say trendy things like “that’s cray” and “chillax” or even how they clip their toenails onto their plate after they finish eating. Well, at the ripe age of 28, I’ve come to the realization that this embarrassment never ends. It just evolves into something different.

palmspringspoolsign

(picture taken in Palm Springs, CA this past summer)

Mom: Blair, did you see this sign? Maybe you shouldn’t swim today.

Me: Uh… I’m fine, mom. No diarrhea here.

Mom: But, I saw you rush to the bathroom when I was getting water in the middle of the night. I just assumed it was urgent. Is everything working okay down there? Have you seen a doctor lately? Diarrhea can make you dehydrated. Make sure you drink more water today.

Me: Thanks, mom. I’m good. Just a routine visit in the night.

Mom: Do you remember that time you pooped in the bath tub when you were with your sister? I can think of a couple times you went in the water when you were little. I don’t know what it was… but, you liked to let loose once you hit water. I think it relaxed you. It was so weird.

What’s more humiliating: my mom deciding to loudly discuss my issues in public, or the woman who was frantically pulling her kids out of the water while they were crying, thinking there was actually a possibility I would crap in there? Thanks for the vote of confidence, lady. I’m almost 30.

rambles, things that matter

When I was growing up I had an irrational fear of being humped by dogs. There were quite a few years  they scared the absolute shit out of me. Not because I thought they would attack and bite me… but, I thought they would cling onto my leg and make me their bitch. I used to wake up from nightmares of dogs chasing me just so they could knock me over and help themselves to my limbs.

It seems pretty weird, I know. I actually had no idea what humping was at that time. Guys, I grew up under a rock. I was one of those awkward, overly sheltered, strange kids that liked to sit in the corner and pick my nose. When we first met, it was highly likely you’d assume I was home-schooled. (My husband was home-schooled, so I can say that without it being offensive…right?) All I knew was that a dog had tried before, and my grandpa had smacked his butt and pushed him away, calling it gross. After that, I lived in fear of it happening again.

laytonblackwhite

(Layton. A dog Alex and I fostered for a few months last year)

Now, I love dogs. Hell, I love all animals for the most part. But the same fear still manifests itself now. I can’t watch a nature documentary without having the remote readily available. You bet your ass I’m changing the channel if any sort of animal mating comes on the screen. And, there is still part of me that gets a little nervous and sweaty when we are planning a trip to the zoo.I don’t want to see something that, you know… can’t be unseen. I know, I know. It’s the circle of life. It’s what animals do, they are just procreating. It’s nature. Grow up, Blair… you’re 28. That’s why it’s called an irrational fear, people.

Well, today is Veteran’s Day here in the US. Not only did my grandfather protect me from a hump-happy dog, he also kicked some Nazi ass in WWII. Thanks, Grandpa. Miss you. Please don’t roll over in your grave because I’ve included you in a post about humping.

And, thanks to all veterans for your service. I’d buy all of you lunch if I could afford to.

cat lady chronicles, rambles

I’ve been nominated for a Liebster Award. I see them floating around everywhere, and I truly have no idea what they are. What I haven’t seen around : who wins. anybody? what do I get if I win? who chooses the winner?! WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?

So, I’ve decided I’m going to do a rebel-version of the award “rules” and just answer the questions. The only reason I’m doing gonna do it is because the person who nominated me is pretty awesome. She cracks me up. Go visit Sandra’s blog “what sandra thinks”  here.

Her questions were:

How many different places have you lived and which was your favorite?
I’ve lived in 7 different states  here in the US: Massachusetts, New Jersey, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, Utah, and currently North Carolina. My favorite was Utah — friendly people and snow-capped mountains. Hello.
Describe yourself in 5 words or less.
My cat has her own room. (six words — but it says a lot)
Who is your hero or idol?
JK Rowling. A bit cliche, but growing up I always thought it was amazing how she could captivate an audience.
Where is your favorite place on earth?
Anywhere coffee, sweatpants, and fuzzy slippers are socially acceptable to wear all day.
What is your most-loved childhood memory?
Races with my sister to see who could poop the fastest. Kids.
What annoys you most?
When people are unwilling to see something from another’s perspective. Or anything foot related. Feet are disgusting.
If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, health concerns aside, what would it be?
Pizza or Chinese food. Not real Chinese food — the bastardized American version.
Where would you go on your perfect vacation?
A margarita and a beach is all I need.

Rather than pass it along to other people, I thought it would be fun to just ask my own question to anyone who wants to answer. I’m going to base it off my favorite question of Sandra’s.
What is your funniest childhood memory? (kid stories always make me laugh)