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.
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.
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!
Ever love something so much you want to squeeze it so tight that its eyes pop out and guts burst all over your walls and decorate it with a nice red tinge? Sure, it’s a bit brutal like a scene from Dexter when he’s hacking the shit out of one of his victims and bathing in their blood, but that’s okay. It’s out of love, you know? My mom always told me it was the thought that counts, so… as long as you do it with good intentions it’s okay. (That’s how it works, right?) Anyways, the point of this ramble was to tell you guys that I love you. So much that I want to hug you so tight you can’t help but shit yourself. I really appreciate and have all the feels for this community.
Anyways, I was nominated for an award by R Cawkwell. Since I never follow to the rules to these things, I thought I’d answer the questions she asked, then turn and ask y’all questions of my own so we can learn more about each other. It’s a fun game, so answer them damn it! Or sit in the corner being a party pooper while you pick your nose. Whatever works.
She asked me:
- When did you start writing? I started writing poetry when I was in junior high. It was absolutely terrible, but it spawned my love for writing.
- Pluto: Planet or not? YES. Of course. Don’t disrespect Pluto just being it’s smaller than the others. Didn’t your parents teach you manners?
- Favorite place to write? At my desk, I’m not hipster enough to write in public.
- Pen or word processor for the first draft? Word processor. My hands hurt way too fast when I write by hand.
- If you were a mythical creature, what would you be? A hippogriff. Because, uh… Harry Potter kicks ass.
My questions for y’all:
- If you could recommend ONE show right now, what would it be?
- Would you rather spend the rest of your life with giant testicles on your chin, or having hooves instead of hands?
- If you could choose any celebrity to hit the sheets with, who would it be?
- Who’s your favorite blogger around these parts? (Besides me, obviously!)
Random-As-Shit Thursday Thoughts
1. I read an article two years ago that a study found men’s beards to be stocked full of poop. Not literal chunks or anything, just the poop particles that float around because people are God-awful at washing their hands. (Don’t be like that, assholes. Wash your damn hands! Do you really want to bear the responsibility of a stranger accidentally putting your poop in their mouths?) Anyways, I’ve been using this as a reason to convince my husband not to grow his beard too long. “The longer it gets, the poopier it smells!” or “If I get pink eye from hugging you, hell is going to rain down!” Well, he discovered that it was somewhat of a myth, sadly. Beards aren’t more likely to have poop in them than any other thing in the world thanks to nasty ass people. Guess I’ll have to start getting used to the fact he might look like the next hillbilly that rolls out of Duck Dynasty.
2. Is anyone going crazy with summer right around the corner, counting down the days until they can go on vacation? It feels like this every year for me the second Spring is in full swing. It’s all I can think about doing. Man, we have a few trips planned for the beach in the next couple months, and I’m literally crossing off days on the calendar one-by-one until we get there. It’s like my body is craving it. Granted, our first week-long trip is sharing a beach house with my entire family, and the second one is sharing a house with Alex’s entire family. I’m not sure these are the ideal ‘relaxation’ vacations, but I figure it will at least be fun. Or we might return home crazier than we left. Who knows. It will be a fun experiment. Do you have any vacation plans you are looking forward to?
3. The other day I saw an article about women now choosing to “free bleed.” You know, not using any tampons/pads and just letting it flow wherever it goes. It cited a woman running a marathon in white shorts covered in blood, and an Instagram post of a woman bleeding while doing yoga. I was… disturbed. I understand it’s a normal body function and all, but no. JUST NO. STOP IT. I know it’s 2017, but some shit doesn’t need to be shared, you lunatics!
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.
I’ve never done this before, but instead of being, you know… productive this morning and writing the post I had planned, I ended up spending two hours reading every.single.post I’ve made since I started this blog. That’s almost two years worth. I was going to write about a funny story from my childhood but for the life of me – I couldn’t remember if I’d posted about it before. I’m worried I’m going to start repeating myself and look like a complete idiot. Have you guys gotten to that point yet? My mind has gone to complete crap. Maybe it’s my age or the long term effect of eating too many cheese balls as a kid, but I’m blaming 4/20 even though I haven’t smoked in years. Yep, definitely the weed’s fault.
So, for the first time ever, I’m going to do a ‘Friday Flashback‘ post and share one from over a year ago. It goes along well with the fact that I’ve been feeling a bit down from having a lack of a life/friends lately. (Why is it so hard to make friends as an adult? I never had this issue when I was younger.)
I recently stumbled upon a blogger who was reviewing a local restaurant right down the road from me. It made me pretty excited, so I posted a comment and tried to connect with her. I really had no intention of meeting this person, I just wanted to tell her how much I agreed with her good review and next time she should get the Bacon & Pimento Cheeseburger because it will give her a mouthgasm. (If you don’t know what Pimento cheese is, you’re not living life.)
Well… she never responded to me. I figured I might come across a bit crazy in my writing, so I thought reaching out to her in an email would clear my name and make her feel more at ease:
I commented on your post recently and I’m worried I came across weird and freaked you out. Don’t be scared. I didn’t want to meet up with you or anything like that. I know I come across a little crazy on my blog… but I assure you I’m more of a “I made my 8-year-old niece try a dog treat crazy” rather than a “I’m going to find your house and harvest your organs crazy.” Speaking of your house, the one on your Bio page is so cute. So is your dog. If you want to be friends, I’m just down the road.
Pretty sure I made it worse. You win some, you lose some right?
Lesson of the Day : If you want to make new friends off the internet, don’t mention living down the road from them and harvesting their organs in the same paragraph.
PS – I promise… I’m really not crazy! Well, not serial killer crazy at least.
I’m not sure if it’s allergies. the weather changing, or something a bit more sinister, but lately I’ve had such a bad migraine I wonder if I’m moments away from my brain exploding and decorating the walls of my home. Which I imagine would be quite painful and life-ending, but who knows, I could be the originator of the next great home design trend. Not that I want other people’s brains to end up on their walls – but maybe red paint thrown against the wall like blood spatter will be the next big thing. That’s something to look forward to, right? Being a trendsetter? There’s always a silver lining if you search hard enough.
I’ve been meaning to pick up the frequency of my posts again this past week, but with family over for Easter and Satan plaguing me with the migraine from hell, I’ve been a bit distracted. I actually didn’t put it together until right now, but maybe there’s a connection. I think I’m being bitch-slapped by the devil on the holiest of holidays. I’m convinced.
Anyways… thanks to everyone for entering the giveaway to win a $20 Amazon gift card. It was fun to see all the yummy food everyone was craving, and exceedingly torturous at the same time for someone who eats a very strict diet. I asked for it, though!
The winner, who was drawn at random is…. zongrik ! The food she was craving at the time she commented was mango slices. Mmmm. Very summery and refreshing. I’d definitely go for that.
(zongrik – email me within a week at firstname.lastname@example.org, and I’ll send the gift card your way!)
Do any of you ever read funny Amazon reviews? They seriously kill me.
Why does it seem like the majority of bloggers are much cooler than the people I meet in person? I’ve said this a few times here, but I’m reiterating because it seems strangely true. I’d rather fall ass-first into a dildo factory or have someone crap in my hand at a Broadway show and be forced to give a standing ovation than meet random schmucks in person. So, because I love you guys, and because the weather has been hot and sunny and putting this negative Nancy in a good mood, I wanted to do a small Amazon gift card giveaway this week. I mean, who doesn’t want a free $20 to Amazon? They have just about everything. (And I can just email it out, so you don’t have to worry about me showing up at your doorstep with a meat pie made of roadkill I scraped off my driveway.)
I’m just doing this for fun, so the only thing you need to do in order for a chance to win is answer the question below in the comment section. You can enter up until Tuesday night 04/18 at 11:59pm EST. I’ll post the winner on Wednesday morning. If you have Amazon in whatever country you live in – you are eligible to win.
(Benny D. Sheep and the cat’s butt are not included in the giveaway. If you follow me on Twitter, Benny is the smaller version of the huge sheep I found in Kroger the other day. Isn’t he cute?)
Maybe one day I’ll actually make some sort of money of this blog, and I can start doing big giveaways. That would be fun.
Here’s the random question you need to answer in order to enter: If you could eat anything you wanted right now, what would it be?
I feel overwhelmingly stressed lately. This has far surpassed the slight worry over what I’m going to make for dinner or the best way to organize my prized box of multicolored beanie babies that’s hidden away in a locked, temperature controlled storage room on the other side of town. They are worth so much money, they really do deserve the best treatment. I’m deep into the realm of feeling like I’m trapped on the beach and someone is burying me alive under the weight of a thousand pounds of sand. I’m suffocating. The weird part is – nothing has really changed, so I don’t know why it has come on so suddenly. That’s likely the problem – I’m ready for a change that just hasn’t come yet.
So, today I’ve convinced my husband to finally go see Beauty and the Beast with me. And, you know what… I’m throwing caution to the wind. I’m going for the M&Ms. No, fuck it. I’m getting peanut M&Ms. I’m so tired of having to count/measure every single bite that goes into my damn mouth. Why can’t I just be naturally skinny like my siblings? I really got screwed on the gene pool. Being in a constant state of trying to lose weight and work out has me feeling like I’m tiptoeing into crazy town. Why can’t pizza, cupcakes, and a plate of good southern bbq be healthy and rabbit food be what’s killing us? Why, God, WHY? Why do this to us? The inhumanity. (Okay, I’m done with my hissy-fit. Nothing to see here. Carry on.)
The only thing that’s blatantly spiking my anxiety is my cats, so if you’re a cat lover/owner/trainer/whatever, and you have any advice for a situation I’m in – it would be much appreciated. I don’t want to go deep into it on here, but it has to do with cats not getting along/stalking/litter box aggression. If you could message me on Twitter or email me at email@example.com I’ll love you forever and maybe even send you cookies. Or maybe I’ll just eat a cookie in your honor. That’s the same…right?
Random-As-Shit Thursday Thoughts
1. Some people listen to music when they are trying to relax. Others go to the bar and down a shameful amount of appletinis while having their self-esteem boosted by a drunk asshole that thinks complimenting a stranger’s ass is the best pathway to a lifelong love. Or a night full of burning STDs. Who knows. I watch cats. Not my own cats, they’re too boring. I’ve been obsessed with a live stream on YouTube called ‘Kitten Academy.’ It’s run by a couple in Illinois who foster pregnant cats and their kittens until they are old enough to be adopted through a rescue they work with. They have a 24/7 live stream in a few rooms of their home dedicated to different mom+kitten families. If you like cats, you need to check it out. I’ve become so addicted I check in on the kittens all day – when I’m pooping, at my computer writing, and sometimes when I feel it’s necessary to pretend I’m listening to my husband when he’s talking about sports. It’s one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen. If you need something to make you smile and calm you down, check it out. It’s much better than getting drunk and losing your self respect on a Friday night.
(Here’s a photo I stole from their Twitter yesterday. Look at those sweet faces.)
2. Last week I got my annual haircut. Yes, I only go once a year. I’m not afraid to admit I let my hair get a little Tarzan-esque once in awhile. Getting a hair cut is probably one of the worst things you have to do when you have social anxiety. You’re stuck in a chair, being nailed with personal questions that are impossible to escape, while a person dances around you with scissors chopping away while they barely pay attention. Even the thought of it makes me nauseous. This year I happen to get a woman who was the most obnoxiously outgoing person I’ve ever met. At one point she brought up bestiality and how horrible it would be to get stretched out by a cow. She is also 100% convinced that giant zombie chickens are going to be what wipes humanity from Earth. Seriously. Genetically modified zombie chickens. She thinks they’ll be so strong they’ll be able to muscle us to the ground and peck us to death. I wish I was making this stuff up, but it all came out of her mouth. And I thought I was the one with word vomit. I’m never getting a haircut again.
(Hellllo Khal Drogo. He kind of looks like Tarzan here… right?)
3. Anyone have any masterful April Fool’s Day pranks they are going to play on someone? I’m running out of time and haven’t come up with a good one yet. I really want to find one that will scare my husband so bad he will pee himself. That would bring me great joy. (Unless he makes me clean it up or something.)
Since I’ve started writing a novel, I feel like my mind is in a constant state of playing everything out. There’s a movie on loop playing in my head. I’m always thinking about what could happen, or what my characters are doing, and I’m pretty sure it’s driving me to the brink of insanity. Which sounds kind of thrilling, but it’s actually pretty terrifying when you can’t concentrate on anything else. It’s starting to seep into my dreams at night, too, and since my novel is a murder mystery/teen sleuth, this isn’t bringing along dreams of playful puppies tumbling down a field of wildflowers and kittens cuddling underneath a Skittles rainbow. My dreams are more in the realm of brutal slayings, the decapitation of pedophiles, and throwing a stabby porcupine at an unsuspecting stranger’s face. Anybody up for some free acupuncture? It’s an intense way to wake up every morning. Which leads me to a question Alex and I discussed at length yesterday:
If the person you love most in this world (spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend/sister/best friend/whatever) killed a pedophile instead of reporting it to police, would you flee the country/hide with them or turn them in? The pedophile wasn’t attacking anyone, or doing anything at the time your person found out so it wasn’t self defense, they were just angry and wanted to end him for being a sick fuck. Are you turning them in because you want nothing to do with it? Or do you love them to the point you are willing to give up your life to protect them and live on the run? I’m curious what your answers are, because Alex and I had opposing ones. Dun dun dun…
Also, how do you not become so consumed by what you’re writing about? Is this normal? I’m assuming this is why most creative artists are the depressive type. Pretty soon I’m going to be shaving my head and chanting around a bonfire in my backyard wearing nothing but nipple tassels and a baby diaper. Okay, probably not, but you see where I’m going.