adventures in awkward

I have an unexplained love for hearing people’s painful dating stories. Especially when they involve terribly awkward people that have no concept of what to say on a first date. (Here’s a hint – talking about sharing a toothbrush with your dog isn’t something that should be revealed right after you discuss what you do for a living.) Horrible Tinder date stories are my jam. I think my love for it stems from meeting my husband at the young age of twelve and never actually having dating stories of my own. I’ve missed out on something, so I have to live vicariously through others. It’s a rough life, what can I say?

Alex and I were out to dinner last night when we took note of a very quiet couple in a booth near us. The poor guy was sweating; beads on his forehead, rubbing his palms on his pants underneath the table. Honestly, it was uncomfortable to watch. When he left the table for a few minutes, the woman grabbed her phone and dialed quickly. “He seems really nice, but we have nothing to talk about. Give me something to talk about! Help, I’m dying here. He’s coming back. Bye.”

So, much to the extreme embarrassment of my shy husband, I sprung into action. I walked over to their table and started to sing ‘Can’t Touch This’ by MC Hammer, and busted out the best running man anyone has ever seen. Threw in a couple pelvic thrusts. Bent over and tried to do a little twerking, but failed horribly. (Let’s not talk about that.)

Man: What… the hell are you doing?

Me: Giving you guys something to talk about.

Man: *laughs* This is… the strangest dinner experience I’ve ever had.

Me: Now you have something to bond over! Carry on… *moonwalks back to own table*

After that, every time I looked over they were talking and laughing. Probably at me, but it got the job done, right? So, I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say I’m the best matchmaker there’s ever been. A modern day Cupid. I like to think they will find me in a year or two and be a happily married couple wanting to name their first-born-child after me.

I’m going into business. Are you single? I’m here to put on an awkward display and lend my sick dance skills to you. Hit me up.

If you have a weird dating story, feel free to share! I might laugh at you, though. Fair warning.

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

I had an epiphany yesterday. I was standing in the middle of a Walmart pharmacy section with my newly purchased box of Samoas a bunch of little girls conned me into buying even though I probably won’t eat them. Those girls are so shifty. Have you ever had those Girl Scout cookies before? They are akin to tequila for me – every bite makes me want to strip down, put my underwear on my head, and do a seductive rendition of the chicken dance for everyone. Sexy, eh? I really know how to party.  I was minding my own business, but then I was interrupted.

Walmart Lady: Is something wrong?

Me: I hate it here. That’s it … I hate being here. It’s driving me crazy.

Walmart Lady: Uhh, is there something that happened? Can I help you with something?

Me: Oh, no. Not here here. I mean, I kind of hate it here. Why does it seem like Walmarts are always in dusty old warehouses where they once held a bunch of Chinese kids hostage to make their clothes? Is that why your stuff is so cheap? Where are the children now? Where. Are. The. Children?!

Walmart Lady: …

Me: *stares* 

Walmart Lady: I don’t know nothin’ about no Asians!

Me:  *turns and quietly leaves*

I’ve come to hate living in this town. I’m not entirely sure where it stems from, but recently I’ve had the overwhelming feeling of needing to get out. Sheep aren’t made for the suburbs. There’s barely any room between the houses, silence is nonexistent, and it feels like privacy is hard to come by. I miss the country. I need to take some deep breaths of fresh air – cow shit and all. I’d even rather be closer to the beach.

I tried to ask my Mom for advice while I was driving home, and her wisdom was ‘just follow your heart!’ What kind of crappy advice is that? My heart is just telling me to go to the refrigerator.

I think it’s time to move.

Coming Soon

 

adventures in awkward

ask the sheep

I have no friends. In full disclosure – I’ve been known to participate in weird satanic rituals like slow dancing with my cats and pushing on people’s bruises when they least expect it. (Am I the only person who sees a bruise and has a hard time resisting taking a stab at it? I can’t be.) I don’t really blame anyone for steering clear of me. I would. But, I got an email a few days ago that was asking for advice and I got super excited because I felt a new friendship blossoming. That was until I read it and realized this person was 100% trolling me and trying to be a smart-ass. It’s still probably one of the best emails I’ve ever gotten and deserves to be shared.

“Dearest Sheep,

This seems weird but I was hoping I could ask you a question. Everyone I know seems to give me candied, sugared-down advice and is pisses me off more than helps. I’m asking you to be blunt and tell me what I need to hear. Please don’t kiss my ass. You ain’t gettin a piece of it either way. I just need some honest feedback. It’s a doozy, but here it is…

My wife has named her lady taco ‘Winifred.’ It’s not a terrible name. I know it could have been something even worse like Lester or Jerry Seinfeld. The problem is is that my grandma’s name is Winifred. She did this shit on purpose to torment me. Now every time we get into it, all I can think of is how much I enjoy my grandma’s warm apple pie.

Do you have any better name suggestions for my wife’s muff? How should I handle this delicate situation?  Am I being unreasonable about wanting her to change its name?  I think we just need to come up with something a little more sexy for her beef curtains. This is urgent. Thanks.”

I love the internet.

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

I’m still slowly finding my way out of the sludge of my months-long-hiatus on this blog. I’m not sure why it takes me so long to write  a post now, but I’ve been plagued with some pretty severe writer’s block. Everything I write makes me cringe like a 14-year-old who has parents that go out of their way to embarrass them as many ways as possible. (You know, like when your mom dropped you off at school in her pajamas and didn’t bother combing her hair or putting a bra on? Damn, those years were rough.) I used to crank out posts every other day, but now I’m only managing one a week. Brain? Hello? Are you in there?  Your presence is requested on the poop deck. 

I don’t normally respond to blogger awards but I thought it would be fun to answer some questions, then ask you guys some.  I like learning about you guys anyways, considering I spend a lot of time reading your blogs. So, answer my questions, okay? Answer them or else!  

Here are questions that were asked of me by hotmessmemoir. She’s the one who nominated me. She kicks ass, so check out her blog:

You are given an unlimited amount of money by Daddy Warbucks. The only stipulation is it must be spent on a dream you’ve had. What is that dream?  I’m assuming this means the money must be spent to make the dream come true? That’s what I’m going with, at least. I’m not very good at remembering dreams… but I have a recurring one where my brother is super pregnant. I’d choose that one, hands down. Why? My brother can be douchey sometimes, and it would bring me great pleasure to watch him waddle around in public munching on a turkey leg while everyone gave him dirty looks and shielded their children’s eyes. The horror!

turkeyleg

 

What are you really good at? Embarrassing the people who are ballsy enough to go in public with me. It takes skill. Need some tips? Hit me up.

 

What have you never learned to do? Anything ‘yard’ related – like rake, mow, or anything else outside. My family was very old school growing up. The girls did the inside work while the guys did outside.  I helped pull weeds for the first time last year (at the age of 28, mind you) for all of 5 minutes. Alex laughed at me the whole time because I hate to be dirty. Needless to say – that 5 minutes was long enough. Never again, I say. Never again!  I can fold laundry like a champ and make an ass-kicking homemade mac-and-cheese though.

housework

Here are my questions for y’all: (answer some, all, or be lame and sit and the corner and pick your nose and flick it at the wall. Whatever floats your boat.)

  1. Think of the person you dislike the most in this world. If you had the ability to force them to eat a full plate of anything you wanted, what would it be? ( I would choose a nice corn and rabbit turd salad tossed with a deliciously warm cat-piss-vinaigrette.)
  2.  What do you have an irrational fear of? Spiders? Heights? People who pick their nose and flick it at the wall?
  3. You’re going out to dinner tonight – what type of restaurant are you going to? Mexican? Chinese? American? Italian?
  4. If you’re a blogger – do you have aspirations of writing a book at some point? (Really curious about how many bloggers have the end goal of becoming a published author or if you’re just doing it for fun.)
adventures in awkward

I like to think I’m a mature adult even though I’m 100% guilty of randomly losing my shit in laughter over things like farts and people falling down. What can I say? Sometimes it’s hard to keep your cool when farts sound like quacking ducks and when you get to witness first hand someone so engrossed in their phone that they trip over their own feet. I love to watch  as their phone flies into a nearby puddle and everyone stops what they are doing and stares at them like they are their pathetic Aunt Judy who had too much to drink and wet herself on Thanksgiving last year. Everyone has a crazy family member like that. Judy never learns, does she? Damn it, Judy! For shame.

 I’m the self-proclaimed queen of laughing at inappropriate times. It’s not immaturity, though, right? Maybe I just have a great sense of humor. That’s it. That’s what I’m going with.

awkwardlaugh

In late June, Alex and I went on a road trip to Michigan to go to my cousin’s wedding. Honestly, I’m not close to my extended family. At all. We live far apart and I have more in common with my neighbor’s pet rabbit that eats it’s own poop than I have with the majority of them. They are nice people, though, and since we turned down the last two wedding invitations, we felt obligated to make an appearance this time. We crammed a lot of driving into a short period, and by the time the wedding ceremony rolled around… we were exhausted. I was well into the zone of being sorely overtired. When I get to that point- I have severe issues controlling myself. You know, when you’re so tired you would probably succumb to laughter even over something as lame as a popsicle-stick-joke. It’s tough for me. Really tough.

So, when the girl in the pew in front of us was audibly complaining to her mom about her tights making her underwear ride up her butt, I couldn’t help it. She was soon deep up there, digging a wedgie out for a solid minute. Fingers jammed up her butt as she danced around in place trying to get it free. I lost it. In the middle of a quiet church ceremony that was actually quite beautiful and romantic. The mood was ruined. Everyone turned and stared at me in abject horror. I could feel the death stares burning holes through my skin. It was awkward as hell. I grabbed my shit and got out of there while I still had a little self-respect left.

That was the day I came to the sad realization that I’m the Judy of my family. Not that I’ve wet myself on a holiday yet, but I’m only 29. There’s still time to accomplish that goal.theresalwaysone

 

Silver lining – maybe I won’t be invited to any more weddings.

(Random note – 16 more days left until Fall! I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of it being so hot I can’t step outside without my nipples feeling like they are roasting off. Woo, hurry up, Fall!)

rambles

Am I the only one that gets seriously annoyed when they are corrected by random people online? I’m talking about the grammar police in all their unholy glory. Here in the “blogiverse,” (that word chaps my ass a little) it seems like everyone and their mother has an English degree and likes to shove it in the face of unsuspecting writers when they spot a mistake. What’s with that? Don’t you guys have something better to do with your time? Why leave a random comment that has nothing to do with a blog post solely to correct someone you don’t know? Am I missing something here?

smellycolons

Usually the amazing lessons from the self-appointed grammar police begin like:

“I think you meant to say…”
“Not to be rude, but…”
“My mom thinks I’m special and smart, it would be a shame not to share my knowledge…”
“I won my 8th grade spelling bee, so I’ve got the credentials to correct you…”
“I don’t get enough attention in real life, so I feel the need to make strangers feel belittled.”

News flash: nobody likes a know-it-all. You guys really are the bursting ass pimples of the internet.

/end rant.

seizuresalad

Also, I totally get annoyed by terrible grammar and spelling, so I’m not completely exempt in all of this. It’s the people that go out of their way to correct it is what drives me nuts. It always seems like people do it just to pat themselves on the back for being smart.

adventures in awkward

Do you remember your parents emphasizing when you were young how necessary it was to always be honest? While, at the same time, lied day-after-day about the most important thing in your life back then? Yes, I’m talking about Santa Claus. How dare they, am I right? I remember when my classmate in first grade told me Santa was fake. My mom kept denying it, so when she asked me to get a glass of milk to leave out for Santa that night, I dumped a huge spoonful of the salt into it. That’ll show ’em to keep my happy childhood memories alive. To this day, I wonder if one of my parents actually tried it. Take that, mom & dad! Filthy liars. (Yes, I was a bitter child. Don’t judge)

I’ve been feeling guilty lately that I haven’t told anyone in my family (besides my husband) that I write a blog. I worry that it will have some sort of effect on what I write. I don’t want to be second-guessing or holding back on things I normally wouldn’t think twice about saying. Is my mom going to care that I swear on a public forum? Is my sister-in-law going to be disgusted if I post a poem dedicated to how much I love  my husband’s ass? What about my dad? SEE, THESE ARE EXACTLY THE THOUGHTS I’M TRYING TO AVOID. AHH!

funny-guilty-prisoner-smile-police

How have you handled sharing your blog (or not sharing it) with your family? Does it ever keep you from saying things you want? Does it cause you to have a bigger filter? Have you ever been ‘in trouble’ for what you’ve said? Isn’t Santa awesome?