Don't quote me

I'm somewhat notorious for quoting my friends' weird comments or our conversations on facebook. It's bad... really, really bad. As we're talking, my mom will outright say "Don't you dare put that on facebook!" She's usually too late.

Without further ado, here:



"Oh my God you're a terrible person... how are you so stupid... why are we still friends? I'm going to stab you... you're really fucking creepy... I'm going to kill you... just go away" -naomi (all of this directed AT ME)

"Happy slim thug day. Do what you do but don't get caught." -dad

"Either throw it away now or later... unless you want to be known as 'puke boobs.' I can honestly say that's never happened to me"- mom, in reference to the cat puking in my bra on the floor

"What does 'per' mean in latin? I need it for my medical terminology paper." -naomi
"It means 'happy cat sound'". -dad

"Go to sleep!" -mom
"I'm sick, you can't tell me what to do" -me
"I can too! If I don't sleep I can't care for you. Ya little shit! Go to fucking sleep or I'll come in there and choke you!!" -mom

"Hey kiddo, blow your nose. You have a trail of snot running down your face and it's gross." -me
"Yeah, I have an army of boogers. I am a mess." -jacob (my nephew)

"Oh yeah, we used to steal your halloween candy. Mostly chocolate. I never took as many as your father... Your father is a chocolate whore." -mom

"You're so cute." -mom
(I make an ugly face)
"Am I cute now?" -me
"Yes. Retarded, but cute." -mom

"I LOVE CHAINSAWING! I think my chainsaw is my new favorite tool! It's like riding a motorcycle with razorblades attached!" -John

"Cake fucking. Yes." -phillip

"we can only dream math will be sexy one day" -phillip

"Oh this tastes like love" -me
"Eww" -phillip
"I didn't say it tastes like sex, I said it tastes like love." -me
"Eww" -phillip

"Sometimes I wish my mother was a midget" -taylor

"I love you... WITH AN IRON FIST!" -taylor

"He's a Christmas horse. And he has a bow on his butt. If I ever got a horse as a present I'd want one with a bow on its butt." -amanda

"Quit attacking me with your pelvis!" -amanda

"We're fighting killer ninjas and zombies. Are they zonjas? Or ninjies? I don't know" -mike

"Why is he wearing those glasses?" -chuck
"His name is Greggy. Do I have to say more?" -me
"But those glasses don't make me want to have sex with him" -chuck

"That's the only good part of today. She pooped her pants. She walked to the office with poopy pants to get her blood drawn and give us her poop. I never want to see poop or pee again." -naomi

"I'm going to have to unplug your xbox" - Courtney
"Whoa whoa whoa!"- Mike G
"Dude, calm your tits" -me
"No! These tits will not be calmed!" -Mike G



I can't help that my friends and I have some bizarre conversations; it's why I keep them as friends. I need to share the wealth of our awesome lives. It's not my fault that it's slightly and/or uncomfortably awkward out of context.

Why I hate hookah bars

The atmosphere of many hookah bars are weird. It's almost always really dark with some kind of light show reminiscent of disco balls, usually blasting hip hop/rap songs. Don't get me wrong- I legit like most of the music- it's just that I have sensitive hearing and don't like to have to shout to be a part of a conversation. I'm already an introvert, so I tend not to talk unless I have something somewhat relevant. Having to shout doesn't help encourage me to join in.

Ok, that's a minor inconvenience.

The real issue is that I don't smoke. I have no idea why that's an issue, but it quickly becomes one. My friends know I'm not going to smoke and don't care that I'm not. They either offer once (maybe twice) out of courtesy or they don't ask at all. People who don't know me ask multiple times, usually in a nagging kind of way, as if it's inconceivable that anyone wouldn't want to smoke.

If there's a group, that's when they gang up on me and repeatedly ask (demand to know) why not? They say it's fun/ tastes good. Then they keep telling me it's not a drug, it's not even nicotine or it's not addictive. I know. I don't give a shit. It's not going to happen, kindly shut the fuck up. Thanks.

It's at that point I'm either so uncomfortable I want to (or actually do) leave or I've made them uncomfortable by being the wet blanket. Again, I don't give a shit about their feelings. I'm pissed that they won't drop the subject that I don't want to smoke. If they offered a cigarette and I said "no thanks," would they keep asking? No. From that moment on everyone would accept that I don't smoke. Life would go on.

The last time I went to one I assumed it would only be one, maybe two people I didn't know. There were five. I went with three of my friends and met up with another person I halfway know and his friends. EVERYONE asked multiple times, including my closest guy friend who knows just how uncomfortable I am.

The mood instantly changed when the group collectively realized that I absolutely would not bend. I was suddenly the lamest person on the planet, like "who the hell invited her?" I was incredibly pissed that my friend didn't stand up for me. It got worse when the new people (not my people) started talking about their various drug stories. I have never had the desire to do any drug, so... I was even farther outside of the cool kid's group.

The only saving grace that brought me out of the loser zone was that I had some of whatever alcohol another friend brought (I guess that proved I'm not a saint?). I drink occasionally, maybe two or three times a month, stopping when I get to a nice level of tipsy. When I get to the stage where I think more alcohol = more fun, the still sober-ish part of my brain cuts me off. I have really bizarre, unsettling dreams when I drink too much.

The moral of the story? So long as you partake in one of those aforementioned vices- smoking, drinking, various drugs- you'll be accepted by the cool kids.




Oh wait. No, that's a shitty moral.


Stick to your guns? I don't know. That's the best advice I have.






[Sidenote: I'm so sick of hearing why pot shouldn't be illegal. I've heard everything so many times I could scream. Seriously, SHUT THE FUCK UP! I couldn't possibly care less.]

My friend is still an asshole

This is the previously mentioned asshole who made me drink that energy drink that made me lose my shit. He likes getting on my facebook and changing my status to make me sound like a terrible person... or more awkward than I already am. I don't need help with that.

Here are some gems from the past:


penispenispenispenispenispenispenispenispenispenis

I love cheese (later adding) I now realize I have a fetish for cheese. I need help

taking a bath, poured a ton of jello mix in the water. Yolo

I like big butts and I can not lie. *sigh*

ass ass ass ass 0-okp[,ljo[pi;'][;po,l;o[l;[o  (me trying to get the computer back)

chillin on a mountain of cocaine sippin on some malt liqa- feeling sexy

kicking a cat is great way to release anger

selling tea today, might try selling drugs tonight

big booty bitches are my kind of bitches

just shaved the hairs under my feet, feelin good

the cow says moo motherfucker



This has been happening increasingly over the past few months. I fought it and deleted the terrible ones, but I've given up almost entirely. The funny/sad part is now my friends can pick out the ones he's been writing. They either immediately ask if it was him or tell me I really need to log out of facebook.

He says it "makes me more interesting."

Asshat.


He's changed my cover photo twice. The first time:

aaaaaand here's the second one:

He thinks he's so funny. I need to hit him the next time I see him.


Another jerkwad "friend" at work (who regularly uses my phone to play songs on youtube) also posted a status.

I shat in the corner of the room... just thought everyone needed to know that. :-)



I give up.

One of the reasons I'm so awkward

There's a definite scale of laughter volume:

silent (but still smiling, maybe a shoulder shake)
a slight "I think they're laughing"
somewhat louder (within normal range)
normal volume
loud



... then there's me.

It's not like I have a weird laugh, it's just far too loud.The truly unfortunate thing about this is that it's an enormous contrast to my everyday speech. I'm fairly quiet, which makes this even more startling. I've had people stare at me in public for my explosive laughter.

I made one of my nephews cry- several times- because my laughter scared him so badly. I think he's gotten used to it, but I still try to hold back a bit. This isn't the one who cried at the ugly faces I make. That was a different one. I'm such an amazing aunt :/

There's also my strange, often inappropriate, sense of humor. After 20+ years I've just barely started to catch myself before I make a death/corpse/hell/heaven/jesus/zombie joke at funerals. I don't realize how many times I reference any of those on a daily basis until I say something horrible that will send me to hell. There! I just mentioned going to hell. I shouldn't be allowed to talk.

For instance- I commented to my friend about Paris being the absolute worst place for a zombie attack because their entire city is built on dead people. Mountains of them, thanks to the black plague (seriously, look it up. Galveston as well, thanks to the storm of 1900). Even the way I phrased that proves I'm a terrible person. I made a "joke" that I'd definitely be the first to be killed in a zombie attack...

I said this while we were physically in the cemetery at a funeral.

For her aunt.

Cause I'm an asshole.

I'm unbelievably grateful that she wasn't offended and loves zombies. We stood off to the side and discussed what we would do if the attack happened at this exact moment. I still feel like an ass.

Back to my volume control problem- aside from the occasional stares in public, I can come across as insincere or like I'm a suck-up. There was a job interview where the boss made a joke- it was funny- but it was one where there was only need for a slight laugh. My laugh was quiet by my standards, too loud by their standards.

I get that comment "it wasn't that funny" a lot. Thanks for making me feel even more uncomfortable than I do on a regular basis.

I have to be very careful about what I read/watch in public if I think it's getting too funny for me to control myself. There's this one book ("Let's Pretend This Never Happened") that I truly wish I hadn't read in public. It was hilarious. I nearly died trying to keep myself in check. Don't get me wrong- I still looked weird as shit. I was rocking back and forth, shoulder shaking, couldn't breathe, unnaturally large smile. Basically either epileptic or the mutant in a horror movie bursting out of the human it was possessing. Terrifying.

Now I have step back from whatever hilarious situation I'm witnessing and give myself enough time to stop laughing unnaturally hard or loud. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Lately I only look insane. Baby steps.

dumb kid

So...I've fallen down the stairs three times this month. Ok, slipped and skidded, but still, three times is impressive for anyone over the age of five. My feet are stupid.

Let me tell you the story of how I broke my foot. It's pathetic and kinda funny.

Again, stupid feet. Stupid kid too. I was 8 on a church mission trip to Galveston. All the other kids were at least 5 years older than me, so I had no friends for an entire week. I was the tag-along little sister to everyone there. They were nice, but I could definitely feel the vibe of "ok, I didn't agree to babysit." The adults were adults, so they always did boring adult things. For the majority of the week I was awkwardly trying to be involved with anyone else or awkwardly by myself... much like now. Cue the world's smallest violin.

We all went to the beach and no one wanted to stay in the shallow end with me (especially since I did and unfortunately still do scream with seaweed touches me). I ended up wandering the shoreline for a while. The specific stretch of beach where we were had wooden bridges over massive sand dunes. Weird, I know. They were about 100 feet long, 4 feet high and a flat railing on the top:

So naturally I had to climb on top and walk up and down the railing. When I got tired of the balancing beam act and actually got my footing I felt so tall.

Like everything stupid and inevitably disastrous, it started off fine and harmless. After a few jumps it lost its thrill. I backed up a few feet and did a running jump (Don't get ahead of me here). Awesome, but like an addict, I needed more danger. I backed up a few more feet. Repeat the process until I was doing halfway down the railing running jumps. 

Then my go big or go home moment. Even I knew this was going to be amazing or stupid, though not logically thinking of the consequences. I was totally channeling Pocahontas. It was a glorious jump. 

I don't know how I had been landing before this, but this time I was going for a gazelle-like leap. If Pocahontas could do it so could I! I couldn't. I landed on the top of my right foot, kind of landing on each bone individually and rolling onto the next one until my entire foot was on the ground. The rest of me just fell on the sand like a sack of flour.

I didn't feel any pain or panic or need for help. I just knew that something was wrong and I should probably not move for a minute or two. The adults stopped their adult things and came running from the campsite (which was pretty far away). The theory at the time was just that it was sprained ankle or a bone bruise- whatever the hell that means- and that I should keep my shoes on since it hurt way too much to take them off. No one guessed broken anything.

This was day 3. I was piggy-backed by different people for the rest of the trip.

When we got back home, my foot still hurt too much to walk more than a few feet. As it turned out I broke one bone and fractured the two next to it in the middle of my foot. Lime green cast for 6 weeks and I lied about not trying to scratch under the cast.

Aaand that's my broken bone/actual injury story. Everything else has been minor or boring.

synonym for intolerably clingy?

Ok, this has been my past week. I tried to condense it, but...

Friday afternoon this guy awkwardly sat next to me on the campus bus and said he had to talk to me because I'm "super cute."

Saturday morning he texted and set up a date that night. I, like an idiot, had given him my number. I still haven't learned to whip out the "I'm dating/have a boyfriend/am a lesbian" thing. I think I've learned it now. It was the classic movie date. He bought the tickets and the drinks (this is important later) and I thanked him (also important later). It was all slightly awkward. Okay really, if the movie hadn't been as great as it was, the night would've been terrible. There was no food involved.

Sunday morning he asked when we could hang out again and said that he woke up thinking about me.  HE WOKE UP THINKING ABOUT ME. It hadn't been a full 48 hours since we met and he's already pulling this crap. Are you fucking serious?!

Monday- asked if/what time we could hang out again Tuesday. Thanks for smothering me. I was getting an increasingly weird vibe from him. I had to end it.

Tuesday- his text "Good morning. Sorry if I sound all mushy lol, but you're really beautiful."

Ugh. I am not- nor have I ever- been a romantic. Too many compliments and I automatically think this might be phase one of a serial killer. I know my shit; I watch Criminal Minds.

I met him later in the day to break it off in person because I'm nice like that. Ok, because I'm an idiot. We started having a normal conversation and I was trying not to blurt out "you're clingy and weird and I don't want to date you." Out of nowhere he asked if I was a virgin. (Literally. Like 'Do you think it's going to rain?' 'Probably. Are you a virgin?') Why the fuck would you ask someone that?! That is not the time or place to have that conversation. Keep in mind, this is 5 days after we met. I don't know if there's a way I can emphasize that immense level of creepiness. I don't talk about that part of my life. Ever. Even stating that here made me uncomfortable.

Shortly after that awkwardness, I said I didn't want a relationship of any kind- even dating- with anyone right now and I didn't want to lead him on. He said ok, I thought we parted as friendly acquaintances. There was still a part of me that couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

30ish minutes later he texted and asked if there was a possibility of dating in the future; I'm the only girl he's liked in 3 years; I'm so smart and beautiful that he'd wait until I wanted to date ... He continued, asking if it was that I wasn't interested in him or just that I like being single. Then he asked if it was because he was a virgin. I don't know how the hell he thought that was even slightly relevant. Out of desperation, I used the lame "you're not my type" line.

I haven't responded to him since that. It's been a roller coaster of emotions with him from that moment on- I'm not his type either, he just thought I was interesting; he was just being nice when he said I'm beautiful; he's sorry he was mean, he was just upset; you're not physically beautiful at all.

Wednesday- He pulled some crap about it being a "small favor" to pay him back for the movie, especially since I never thanked him. Bitch please. I am not refundable. Go jump in front of a bus.

Thursday- Again, he asked for the money, saying I could meet him in a certain building at a certain time outside of the girl's bathroom. That's the most "I'm going to rape you" thing I've ever heard... aside from "I'm going to rape you." So no, that didn't happen.

Friday-Sunday- No contact. I thought he'd given up. Lured into a false sense of security.

Monday- he texted a very long, groveling apology. The question now is either continue to ignore him or call him a dick and say don't talk to me again... I'm still deciding.

I've had so many friends/family offers to kick his ass. Thanks. I love you all.

It's fantastic to be plastic

Despite my rants, I'm a non-confrontational person and my anger dissipates fairly quickly- within five minutes, usually. If it's longer than that I just need to vent and have another five minutes and then I'm fine. Anything beyond that means shit just got real.

So I was on facebook and a friend of a friend (who I've met in real life and am cool with) posted a picture of classic Barbie next to a shorter, thicker one. He captioned it with "they gave barbie a beer belly so the fat girls won't feel so fat."

For serious. I had to re-read it multiple times to make sure he really said something so dick-ish. That's a direct quote. He was just that much of a dick. It struck a chord in me.

Like most little girls, I had thought Barbie was the prettiest and I wanted to look just like her. I had even considered being a blonde because there weren't many brunette dolls, obviously meaning blondes were more valued. I consoled myself with having the same blue eyes.

Puberty screwed me up. My hips exploded overnight and I got a booty soon after. I no longer had the stick-straight figure I took for granted. Barbie didn't have curves. No one explained my hips were a result of my skeletal structure- my pelvic bone would always be the same width and nothing I could do could change that.

I spent years thinking I was fat and feeling like I was ugly since everything I tried didn't make that part thinner. All through middle and high school I was convinced: wide hips = fat.

Seeing him diss the "beer belly Barbie" made something in me snap. I had read about this barbie a few months back and fully supported it. She didn't have a beer gut; she wasn't fat. She was a normal woman. The artist had taken the statistics of the average 19 year old American girl and scaled it down to create a realistic doll.

At first glance she does look chubby and awkwardly short in comparison (with a really big butt). Everything about her looks more exaggerated until you think about the women you see on a regular basis. Ever since I can remember I've heard people talk about how unrealistic Barbie is, but to see how drastic of a difference there still took me a second to process. Do I seriously look like that? The more I thought of it, the more I agreed with the modern version... especially the butt.

I couldn't let go or stop myself. Here's what he got:

"the whole point of this version of barbie was to show the proportion of the average woman so little girls won't compare themselves to an unobtainable standard of beauty and feel like shit about themselves."

I added this link:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2308658/How-Barbies-body-size-look-real-life-Walking-fours-missing-half-liver-inches-intestine.html


Perhaps I was too harsh with my comment. Actually, no. I was nicer than I wanted to be. Much, much nicer. He's lucky I took moment to calm the fuck down. It didn't work. I read his post and tried to brush it off. I came back an hour later and had to respond. I tried to be as diplomatic as I possibly could- I can get really fucking mean if I give myself permission to go into full-blown bitch mode. Sometimes heartless.



It's been three hours and he is always on facebook.
One of his friends liked my comment.
He has yet to respond.

I fucking win.





For the record, I'm comfortable with my body now. Ironically, I think my hips are one of my best features.