adventures in awkward

You ever have one of those days where absolutely nothing goes right? Like… all this random crap comes out of nowhere and piles on your shoulders until all your brain can manage to do is shut down while you sit in a corner and chomp on a tube of cookie dough like it’s a perfectly roasted turkey leg. My mind does this a lot in stressful times. I want to just not deal with things that give me anxiety. It’s easier to hide in my basement in the dark binge-watching Gilmore Girls for the 100th time rather than actually, you know… live life.

Monday morning Alex and I were gifted a wall of graffiti on our car. Some young, shitty kid with terrible parents thought it would be funny to take a Sharpie to our freshly waxed Audi. Well, I’m guessing it was a kid considering one of the words this little prick wrote was “lamo.” I’m assuming he meant ‘lame-o,’ but… education has obviously failed this little bastard. Other words he wrote: “die, bitch, fuck you, stupid, haha, you suck.” We are dealing with a genius here, guys.  Honestly, I figured it was an isolated incident so we spent a few hours trying to wash it off and called it a day. Until we woke up Tuesday morning and it was there again so we figured it was time to get the police involved.

There is no doubt in my mind that this is the work of the Neighbor Boy I’ve blogged about multiple times. You know, the kid whose bike I borrowed and whose balls I kicked in when he walked right into my front door with no warning. I’ve also made him fall into a nice hot puddle full of dog poop I awkwardly borrowed from my neighbor when he wouldn’t stop jumping our fence and trampling the flowers. We have a sordid past, but this is the first time it’s gone criminal. We live in one of the safest towns in America, yet we had to install multiple home surveillance cameras to try and catch this shithead in the act. I was hoping to take it to his parents if we get the video, but Alex wants to instantly turn it over to police and put it on his record.

The saga continues. This time I’ll give a point to Neighbor Boy. Subject to change whether we catch him on camera or not. If I can get the cops to scare the ever-loving shit out of him, I’ll award myself an extra point. #TeamBlair (Yes, I just hashtagged in the middle of a blog post.)

(Also, sorry if I missed/was super late responding to your comments on my last blog. Alex and I went to the mountains for a week, then when we got back we’ve been in a constant shitstorm of vandalizing and our cat had some medical issues that needed immediate attention. I still love you. I promise. *Wipes tear.*)

Blair: 3
Neighbor Boy: 1 

(Links to previous posts are below! Also in the middle of the post, but it’s  a lot nicer looking down here.)

help yourself to some tasty poop water (3/19/2016)
aim for the goods (5/18/2016)
i’m a petty thief (4/28/2017)

 

 

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 a teenager my best friend and I used to spend hours sitting at the mall watching people. Usually we would catch the occasional nose picker or someone with a wedgie so deep up their crack we worried about impending paralysis, but normally it was just boring. Not to mention the fact that people didn’t enjoy that we were staring at them and being asshole judgmental teens. Oh well. What else were we supposed to do when we were sitting there enjoying our soft pretzel with melty cheese? Be nice? Psht. (Mmm Auntie Anne’s. Gotta find one of those around here sometime.)

I’ve been thinking about reprising my role of people watching, though, because the past few days I’ve overheard two very strange conversations in public:

When I was walking a paved path at a community park on Tuesday, I heard a woman say, “It took me so long to find a private place to air out my vagina.What?! I have to know why this was a thing. Did she wet herself? Was she sweaty? Did she let out a sulfuric queef that was lingering? So many questions I need answered.

When I was standing in line at PetSmart yesterday, I heard a young girl say, “My dog accidentally licked my nipple when I was getting into the bath. I hope I don’t get pregnant with puppies. I’m not ready to be a mom.” Ah… the innocence of childhood. I thought this was cute for a little kid to say.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve overheard before?

Also, Happy St. Patrick’s Day. Hope everyone enjoys being glued to the toilet and plagued with green poop all day tomorrow from all the food dye.

(This picture has zero to do with my post, but… as I was looking for St. Paddy’s/Irish pictures it came up. I couldn’t stop laughing. I didn’t even see her at first! I’m only like 5% Irish, but I suffer from the same pastey white affliction.)

adventures in awkward

I have a seriously high butt crack. I know that’s a weird thing to put as a first sentence of a post, but I’m going with it. Because it’s true…. and quite unfortunate unless you like to give out free peeks to poor unsuspecting people any time you bend over or lift your arms. She’s like an overly friendly sorority girl who can’t keep her shit straight and her clothes on – everyone gets a show. Yes, it’s a she.

My niece was telling me how she was uncomfortable with her knobby knees over the weekend, and I decided to share my woes about my crevice-from-hell with her. I thought it would make her laugh because kids are supposed to find butts funny. Instead she told me I was the grossest person she’s ever talked to. The grossest. Harsh words, right? I mean, I can’t change the size of it. Sure, sometimes I eat food after it falls on the floor or wait a little longer than I should to shave my legs… but the grossest? Damn.

On a serious note – 

Does anyone else find it sickening that we’re cultivating a society where girls as young as 10 (probably younger in some cases) look in the mirror and are already picking out things they hate about themselves? Their skin is too pale, their foreheads are too long, too fat, too skinny, or maybe they have too many freckles. At ten years old they are thinking this. This is a little early, don’t you think? We are the cause of this. It’s sad. This is way too young. 

 

 

adventures in awkward

Do any of you have really strange recurring dreams? Like the ones that are so vivid you are 100% convinced you’re about to ride your adult-sized tricycle off a cliff and you can feel both of your legs snap when you finally make contact with the ground again? You wake up sweaty, your pillows stained with tears, your dog whimpering in the corner, and you’re praying to God your legs are, in fact, still attached and not going in wonky directions. That 10 seconds between waking up and figuring out whether it was a dream or real life = terrifying. Purely terrifying.

hangovertoothI have a recurring dream about losing my teeth. Sometimes they are straight falling out, other times they are just wiggly. I have pretty good dental hygiene, so I don’t know where this stems from. I Googled some time ago about it and got multiple reasons for the dream – feeling powerless, talking about things that should remain private, getting old. They are all over the charts, so I don’t know if I really believe in any of that crap. All I know is that I’ve developed an extreme fear of myself losing teeth, and other people losing teeth near me. This is a problem when you spend a lot of time with 7 nieces and nephews under the age of 10. Teeth are falling out left and right. If the Tooth Fairy were real, I’m pretty sure it would be like her ultimate sex fantasy around here. Or a serial killer’s. Either way.
toothsavers

Well, apparently it’s standard issue where I live for a dentist to give out necklaces to kids for them to keep their teeth in. I’ve never heard of this, and was mortified when my 6-year-old niece showed me hers. I tried to slap on a smile when she asked to show me her first lost tooth. I even gave her a nervous laugh when she asked me to hold it for her. While she explained her entire dentist trip she playfully stabbed me with the long root of the tooth that was still attached. (I’m cringing just thinking about it.)

The worst part: when we played a very long, drawn out game of Monopoly she used her tooth as her player piece.  This girl really knows how to torture me. She’s lucky she’s my favorite. (I’m allowed to have favorites, right? Oops)

I don’t think this is a dream I’ll be able to stop any time soon. Damn kids. Why can’t I have a normal one like showing up to school without shoes on? Or not wearing any clothes while I’m giving my acceptance speech for when I receive my Nobel Prize? At least I’d be accepting a million dollars so the nakedness of my ass wouldn’t bother me.

adventures in awkward

Yesterday I turned 30. I think I was supposed to go through some sort of emotional upheaval or personal crisis over the milestone, but I’m welcoming it with open arms. I had a great day of chicken wings, cheesecake, and shopping… which really leaves me with nothing to complain about. Life seems to get better as I get older, so… peace out, 20’s. Your awkward, booze-filled, ramen-noodle-eating years won’t be missed.

30things

(I’ve done 7 of these. Ouch. I’m particularly good at #25)

The only thing the age of 30 has made me realize is that I’m passing my prime to have kids. All of the cheerful Christmas commercials showing kids ripping open gifts and baking cookies for Santa aren’t helping the situation either. Damn all this holiday joy. Damn it! Just kidding, I love Christmas.  My ticking biological clock has straight slapped me across the face. The constant reminders from my mom are brutal too. (Okay, maybe there’s a slight emotional upheaval going on here. Don’t tell anyone.)

I really did hate the majority of my 20’s, though. College was not the best time of my life. The only thing memorable about my 21st birthday was being puked on by my friend while I had to remain sober enough to take care of her. When I was 24 I got food poisoning from Taco Bell and had to use my car’s leather seats as a toilet. At 26 I split my jeans in the middle of Target and introduced my right butt cheek to the world. Good times, my friends. Good times.

I’m hoping my 30’s go a little better. Let’s get this shit rolling.

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

Last week I wrote a post that was made up of random thoughts/experiences I had during the week. I thought it went pretty well, plus I love any reason to talk about the random insanity that plagues my life so I’m going to do it again. Strap yourselves in because here we go, friends. Here. We. Go.

It’s getting hot in here – I was in Barnes & Noble the other night and there were two teens making out and groping each other in the horror section. Seems fitting, right? It made me pretty horrified. What happened to the days when kids sat in the back row of the movie theater and let their hormones rage in the dark? Keep it classy, guys. Nobody wants to see that. I was feeling particularly snarky that night, so I found a book called ‘God Is Watching You’ (or something close to that, can’t remember the exact name.) I tapped one of them on the shoulder and handed it over. They were embarrassed. I counted it as a win. Justice was served. Book stores are always an adventure (especially when you are crazy.)

funny-awful-kisses-8

Updates – The mother of the kid I kicked in the balls a few days ago dropped by this morning to offer an apology. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen this woman take an interest or responsibility in her child. She told me she has barred him from stepping foot on my property (which, hello – he shouldn’t be anyways) and if he does again to let her know. She also brought me brownies with ‘nuts’ in them. Jury’s still out if they are poisoned or not. I love me some brownies, but pretty sure I’m better off passing on these ones. It pains my heart to say no to chocolate.

Sadness – I wasn’t originally going to say anything about this, but since it’s Mental Health Awareness Week, I figured it was worth putting out there. It’s been a rough week for my in-laws (that includes my sisters/brothers-in law as well) because a childhood friend Alex grew up with committed suicide a few days ago. I didn’t know him, and I don’t know his family, so I can only imagine the devastation they are going through. I know it’s easier said than done, but please, if you are having thoughts of suicide, or just need to talk to someone – reach out. Talk to anyone. Hell, you can talk to me. Message me on Twitter and it will ping my phone. We can get through this.

adventures in awkward

Do you guys remember the post I made about the little hell-child that roams my neighborhood? The one that I forced to take a swim in dog-poop-soup in my backyard? (Jesus, if you have no idea what I’m talking about, I probably sound like the worst human being there is.) THE KID HAD IT COMING, OKAY? I’m not a monster.

If you don’t feel like clicking the link, I’ll give you a fast overview. There’s a middle-school kid who roams our cul-de-sac and has no respect for anybody’s property. He walks in unlocked houses. Goes through cars. Jumps fences and tramples on flowers. Has left chip bags and other trash in yards. The worst thing about all of it – his parents don’t give a crap no matter how many people complain about it. The kid is the spawn of Satan. Seriously. Pretty sure his mother is Satan’s side bitch.

Now that we’re caught up.

We lost power for a short time last night during a heavy thunderstorm. Usually I like storms, but when the power cuts in the middle of the night and I’m suddenly sitting there in the dark only able to hear my cat slowly licking her ass, things get creepy for me.  Here’s the following series of events:

Alex: I love you

Me: I love you way more, though

Alex: Uhh, I don’t think so.

Me: God, I hate us. We’re so sick. If I weren’t me, I’d totally want to kill us.

*Front door randomly opens and a rain-soaked person walks right into our house*

At this point, I was 100% sure this guy was, in fact, here to murder us. So I did what every classy kick-in-the-balls-funnywoman would = aimed for his nuts. I ran up, while screaming like a banshee, and punted as hard as I could before shoving the person back out the door. Alex grabbed a flashlight and, lo and behold, neighbor boy was clutching himself as he ran away.

Yep. I kicked an 11-year-old in the balls last night. I’m not sure I should find this as humorous as I do. Maybe I AM a monster. I’ve got a first-class seat on the ride to hell. Who’s joining me?

Blair = 2 Neighbor Boy = 0