A comedic stroll through the awkward and embarrassing moments of my life

A Life of Omissions

As a person who is forced to interact socially with others, I spend a lot of time trying to make myself sound like a more successful adult/human being/dieter. This is accomplished mostly through artful omissions of truth. Some examples are listed below:

  1. What I said I did last night: I saw Drew and Nick Lachey at a distance during happy hour
    What I actually did last night: I watched “The Lachey’s: Raising the Bar” on television from the comfort of my couch, while drinking a Mike’s Hard Lemonade

 

  1. What I said I’m going to do: Going to Nville for New Year’s Eve.
    What you think I’m doing: Going to Nashville…
    What I’m actually doing: Going to Newtonsville

 

  1. What I said: I had a bite of a cookie.
    What actually happened: I ate four cookies when no one was looking.

 

  1. What I say: Oh, I don’t have any makeup on, I woke up like this
    What actually happened: I spent ten-fifteen minutes, using something that could probably kill the dinosaurs, concealing my real face

 

  1. What I wish I was: A Target person
    What I really am: A Wal-Mart person

 

  1. What my license says I weigh: 115lbs
    What I actually weigh: No one will ever know

 

  1. What I said: I’m low on gas.
    What I mean: I’ve been driving around on E for a day and a half because it was too cold to get out of my car and pump gas, but now I’m forced to stop whether it’s down pouring or not.

 

  1. What I said: I don’t know what happened.
    What I mean: I know what happened, but I’m never telling you what happened.

 

  1. What I said: I did well today; I had a salad for lunch.
    What really happened: I had a salad for lunch because I had a package of chocolate mini donuts for breakfast.

 

  1. What I said I did this weekend: Raged
    What I actually did: Ate a lean cuisine while watching a marathon of Murder She Wrote on Netflix
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As you slowly walk down the narrow corridor, past closed doors barely quieting noises of cursing and sobbing, it’s pretty easy to imagine you are entering a women’s prison for the criminally insane. You have a small pile of clothes in your hands and the fitting room attendant unlocks the room for you. You start to panic and back away, but you know there is no turning back now. You have entered somewhere much worse than prison….you have entered a fitting room. (Possible next stop an asylum.)

Stage 1 – Denial

The most obvious sign of denial is the jeans jump. Girls, you know what I’m talking about. When the pants won’t quite fit over your hips, so you keep pulling on the waist band as you hop, because they are your size darn it. You think to yourself, you just need to suck in because you are a size 6 or a size M. It doesn’t matter if they manage to give you a camel toe, a flat butt and a muffin top. You start to wonder if you somehow ate at a Golden Corral before coming to the store, but blacked out and forgot the whole incident. Because there is no way you actually look like this.  “Just think thin.”

Stage 2 – Anger

You have just realized there is a three way mirror in this dressing room. Cue outrage. Never did I ever have the need to see the back of my kneecaps, but guess what? I have and I hate them. Is there a way to remove one of these mirrors? Nope, bolted to the wall. This is not their first rodeo. You then start to google fasting, liposuction and join a gym…all from your smart phone, while wearing your underwear under a bathing suit.

Stage 3 – Bargaining

Hello, God? It’s me again. I know you’re busy trying to feed the hungry and solve world crises, but I have a problem. I’m going on vacation soon and well, you invented Facebook, so there will be photos of me online…in a bathing suit, so can you make me thin for a while? I will attend church more regularly, okay…I will attend church and I will volunteer to help those in need.  Amen.

Still Fat.

Hello, The Devil? If I still have a soul, I will trade it to look like Giselle Bundchen post haste.

Stage 4 – Depression

Hello, Domino’s? Do you deliver to Target’s fitting room? This is my new permanent residence. I’m never leaving this fitting room. I will be having all mail forwarded.

Stage 5 – Acceptance

I am not 18 anymore, I can no longer wear clothes from the Junior’s department or Gap Kids. I have resigned myself to wear what fits or in the case of a bathing suit, just wear a scuba suit because black is always slimming.

Still working through stage 5, obviously.

Apparently Newtonsville is moving up in the world because it has officially been awarded it’s own Dollar General store. It will be taking the place of  an old trailer that has moved on to greener pastures. Literally, I believe the trailer park is called Greener Pastures. In light of this, I thought it would be good to share some things you may hear upon entering the store:

1. “What do you mean not everything is $1.00. This is The Dollar Store.” “No ma’am/sir/mom, it’s Dollar General.”

2. “One pack of unfiltered for me and one pack of menthols for the baby.”

3. “Do you sell guns here?” “No that would be the Gun Store down the street. They also sell Cow Tails, if you were curious.”

4. “Sorry sir, you have to wear pants to come inside.” “Come on, I’m wearing shoes and a shirt. Best two out of three.” “That’s not what that means.”

5. “Where is the clearance section?”

6. “You swear you’re 18?”

7. “Do you sell Sudafed with or without the methamphetamine?”

8. ” I can’t break this.” “It’s a $20 bill.” “I can change a $10 or $100 monopoly money and that’s about it.”

9. “Where is your pot?” “You mean pots?” “Yeah…pots.”

10. “I am looking for bleach, a tarp, plastic gloves and maybe a hatchet. A butcher’s knife would work though, if that’s all you have.”

11. “If you scrape the mold off, it’s still good underneath.”

12. “Do you sell 40s?”

13. “Store closing due to competition from the 10 other Dollar General stores within 10 minutes of our store and the fact that Newtonsville has a population of about 150 people (on the generous side).”

10 Facts of Life at 25

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It’s 25. Since turning 25, what are some inevitable truths about life at 25/being a productive member of adult society?

1. I have discovered that you need a dictionary when you go to the grocery store. Between organic, gluten free, sugar free, fat free, riboflavin free I have no idea what to buy. Something that I have come to realize is that organic is a fancy term for expensive. For instance, carrots are already organic because they are from the ground. But on the other hand, yes I would love to pay twice the price for untreated spinach so  I can  gamble with listeria.

2. I have found these things called saddle bags. I tried to return them, since I have no horse and no use for them, but apparently that’s not how it works. You will find me lunging everywhere from now on.

3. As much as I may be mistaken for Sophia from the Golden Girls, I will continue to wear a sun hat and layers of sun block at the pool because the only alternative is ending up looking like an oily baseball glove covered in moles.

4. I still have not ended my toxic relationship with the snooze button. You keep getting me into trouble and talking me into things, but I can’t quit you.

5. I worship at the altar of dry shampoo because it is clearly a gift from the gods. am I right?

6. My metabolism has begun playing hide and go seek and my metabolism is winning. Marco…..Marco.

7. Mastering the art of laundry is not within my skill set. No matter how many times I think I have done my laundry, I still have a pile of clothing hanging around taunting me. I have resorted to wearing dresses when I’m out of jeans for work, because apparently wearing sweat suits to work is “inappropriate” and “against the dress code”.

8. The adult purpose of Excel is balancing your budget and paying bills, which is even more boring than whatever Excel was originally created for.

9. It is more than slightly pathetic when you owe fines to the library as an adult. I feel like it really makes people wonder about what other poor decisions you have made.

10. I am at an age where I really don’t see the point in a lot of the technology that has been coming out lately. What is the point of a watch phone? The answer none. No point at all… Apple. However, people older than I am seem to think that the basic applications I do know how to use make me a wizard.

“What is this sorcerey?”

“Powerpoint. It’s just a powerpoint.”

By this Saturday my husband and I will have been married for one whole year. This realization caused me to reflect on this past year of wedded bliss. What happened in our first year of marriage you ask? Well, here’s the list:

– Finding out he will never, ever put the seat down. Ever.

-I am the messiest person alive and without help would probably drown in a pile of my own laundry

-We have seen every Ken Burns documentary to date

-He blamed flatulence on a dog, even when there was not one present.

-We canceled a few very exciting plans in order to lay on the couch in sweats and marathon Netlix original shows

-I was drunk in public for the first time. Apparently it was epic. Let’s just say it ended with a pizza being delivered to a wedding and a toilet phone.

-We canceled our gym memberships, because we are married now. Who are we trying to impress?

-The battle for the covers is real.

– I hog the covers.

-We have begun racing each other to see who can look up facts about movies or actors on IMDB first.

-We have had many East Side v. West Side debates.

-We tried dieting. My husband is still trying. I failed.

-He is a morning person. I am at my best at about 1pm and that lasts about an hour, maybe two tops.

-Oh yeah, we bought a house and adopted a puppy within the same 30 day time period. Enough said.

-Most importantly – we still like each other.

Here’s to 365 more days of togetherness…and other things.

When it comes to house hunting we were definitely new to all of the jargon. So, I thought I would share with all of you some of the things we learned throughout the process.

  • Charming – Claustrophobic. This is our dining/living/bathroom room. It ‘s multi-functional.
  • Classic/Timeless – Old. May have a mold infestation or asbestos. Definitely has lead paint and wood paneling somewhere. The last time it was updated was most likely the 1970’s, judging by the shag carpeting. Also…there’s no dishwasher. Yeah, you heard me. No Dishwasher. You are the dishwasher if you buy this house.
  • 2-3 Bedrooms – Two small bedrooms with a converted pantry that is conveniently located by the back door. It could make a lovely nursery if you enjoyed the story of the Lindbergh baby.
  • Partial Basement – In homes built before 1950, it’s a cellar. A cellar. Do you know what people find in cellars? Dead bodies. 9 times out of 10 when reporters say where the dead body was found, it was in a cellar. They typically also feature the bathroom from the original “Saw”.
  • Unique – A deranged hippie decorated the staircase with a rainbow of broken glass. The place smells like incense and in about a year the basement will have collapsed essentially forming two separate houses.
  • Scenic View – Of the ravine that is your backyard.
  • Pet Friendly Home – So friendly that the current owners have kept all of them. In graves. In the backyard. We really went to a home that had a fenced in pet cemetery in the backyard. All I could think of the whole time was Stephen King’s “Pet Sematary.”
  • A Steal for the Area/Needs A Little TLC – If you ever really wanted to live in a shanty house, this is the one for you. It’s basically condemned, but it’s still at the top of your price range. Who needs an entire roof?  I’m looking at you Ft. Thomas.
  • HOA Fees – Do you have extra money laying around that you have considered just throwing in the garbage? Give it your HOA instead, so they can tell you when you are allowed to put out your trash, hang Christmas lights, not put in a pool, breathe and reproduce. I know the intention is to keep out the “rif raf”, but I’m pretty sure that I am the “rif raf”.

Decisions, Decisions

So I’m sure we all have days where we want to quit the daily grind, but then comes the important question: What will I do for money? Well here are a few fool proof methods I could use to earn money:

1. Donate blood and plasma

2. Grow out all of my body hair until I can sell it to someone to make a human hair sweater

3. Post videos on You Tube of me singing my own rendition of classics like 50 Cent’s “In Da Club”

4. Steal library books and re-sell them on the black market. I have a “For Whom the Bell Tolls” in poor condition, any takers?

5. Partner with Urban Dictionary to record my voice reciting all of the definitions, so that when the site’s users look up a word they can also hear it’s pronunciation. “Sw-oop-ing”

6. Sell slightly used pairs of Crocs on eBay

7. Put my puppy in puppy pageants and claim the winnings as my own. Here Comes Penny Boo Boo

8.  Tell people their futures. No, I would not be using psychic ability, but judgments based on their socio-economic level and past decisions – oh and the fact that they are at a fortune teller

9. Reenact all of the Harry Potter movies verbatim,  as a one-woman show, for un-expecting/unwilling audiences

10.  Let’s just say I had a wall hammock full of beanie babies that may be worth a pretty penny. Literally. One penny.

11. Amateur pharmacist. Licensed? Yes, if you count my Kentucky driver’s license valid ..for any purpose.

12. College recruiter. Specialty? Strippers at work during the day. Come on. You’re not making it. There’s a breakfast buffet.

13. Crime scene cleaner. What? It looked like that when I got here. Finally somewhere that makes me feel good about my messy home. At least I don’t have any literal skeletons in my closet. That I know of.

14. Dress up as a sad clown. I will just walk around town and wait for people to pay me to go away.

15. Start a pyramid scheme. I mean, I’ve always thought of myself as an enterprenuer and when it goes south, I feel like I would do well in prison. I can already widdle a plastic spoon into a mean shank. I don’t enjoy the thought of a toilet kitchen, but maybe I’ll get my Master’s in there.

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