The Fucking Ocean, Dude.

So…last week was shark week. I spent the majority of my evenings watching hour after hour of insane shark attack footage and crazy shitheads that think it’s FUN to swim with sharks. And let me just say - being in a shark cage isn’t gonna keep you safe, pal. Just like that snickers bar that slipped through the lining in my purse last week. Oh, I’ll get that sonofabitch. I’ll get it.

This is why I don’t swim in the ocean. (The other reason being that I live in fucking KANSAS.) I don’t have any desire to get into any water when I can’t see what is swimming around me. I am terrified of the ocean. I will watch it on TV, and I really do think it’s fascinating and beautiful. But I will NOT get on a boat. I will NOT surf, and I will NOT scuba dive. Not in this lifetime. There have got to be all kinds of species in the ocean that we haven’t even discovered yet. Who knows what their migratory habits are like, or whether or not they relish the taste of human flesh?

I have thisWii game that I love to play, called Endless Ocean. It is exactly what it sounds like – you are a scuba diver and you play the game by exploring an imaginary sea and categorizing animals that you find. I enjoy playing the game, since scuba diving is something I could never do in real life. But there is one section of the sea in this game that is called “The Abyss”. It’s…well, a fucking ABYSS. It is this huge dark hole in the ocean floor, and I’m expected to go down there and find the kind of ocean critters that dwell in the deepest parts of the ocean. Uhhhhh…fuck that. I won’t even swim my little scuba chick over it. I did try to go down there once, and maybe got a little less than halfway. And out of the pitch black this HUGE sharky/eel type thingy came right at me and I freaked and got the fuck out of there. And sometimes when my scuba chick is just swimming along, a fucking whale comes out of nowhere and scares the shit out of me. Those bastards are sneaky. So, my fear of the ocean knows no boundaries….including imaginary oceans, apparently.

You can't honestly tell me that THIS ugly fucker

popping up in front of your face wouldn't make you shit yourself.

Hopefully someday I will get over my strange and deep fear of the ocean. I would like to travel someday, and being on this particular planet….if you go far enough, you really can’t avoid it. But don’t expect me to jump in the water. Don’t expect me to put on a mask and flippers and a breathing tank and look for shit on the ocean floor. I don’t particularly feel like donating my leg to the Feed-A-Shark foundation. But if you want to go diving – be my guest. I’ll be the one holding the video camera and saying “I told you so” when I capture your loss of limb on tape. And then I’ll submit the video to shark week so I can see myself on TV. That sounds like what we call a win/win, baby! Booyah!

Sorry about your leg though, I’ll totally help you shop for some wicked cool one-legged pants. Wait, do they even make those?

Aaaaannnd….guess who’s going to spend the afternoon finding out.

*points thumbs at self*

Yay Google!!

There Is Something Seriously Wrong With Me.

My mind is not like other people’s. Last night, I had one of the weirdest dreams I can remember ever having. I literally woke up saying “What the fuck?!” and scratching my head. It was that strange.


So, let’s jump right into it. I dreamed that I was me, at my age, and that my mom had written a musical for a production at the Junior High she works at. (Well, she used to. Her position got eliminated and she got moved down to first grade. It’s a bunch of crap because she was an AWESOME teacher for that age group. But that’s a story for another time.) It was entitled: No More Bonnets! An Inspirational Story of Change.  It was about a group of Amish people who were protesting their boring clothes, and wanted to have the freedom to dress as they choose. Some of the songs titles were as follows:


“I Got Manure on my Jimmy Choos”

“We Want Booty Shorts”

"What's Wrong With Thongs?"

“Farming in My Air Force 1s.”

And last but not least…

“Pimped out Buggy”


I was the lead in this musical. (Because a 23 year old starring in a Junior High play totally makes sense, right?)  In the dream I had performed the entire show once before, but when the curtain opened on a full theater…I froze. I forgot every single word. I couldn’t remember how to sing or act, and I totally lost my cool. Which isn’t that surprising in my case, since I don’t have much to lose in the first place. I pulled a copy of the script out of my pocket, and started to do the show with the book in front of my face – hoping that the rest would come to me after a few minutes. It didn’t.

I was so nervous I couldn’t sing anywhere near loud enough – and some bastard hecklers in the audience were screaming shit like: “We can’t hear you!” and “You suck!” which didn’t make the situation any better. I was off key and didn’t know the notes to the song…but I knew the dance moves! I was doing jazz hands like nobody’s business. I did the chorus line can-can and I “raised the roof”. Because that’s how Amish people dance, of course. But I was so nervous and outright terrified that my face probably read “impending heart attack” instead of “theatrical enthusiasm”.

My mom was whisper\screaming at me from backstage: “You can do this! Relax! DON’T RUIN MY SHOW, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE!!” And about this time is when I looked down, and noticed that my shoes fell off. Not sure how, when or why…but those bitches were gone. Dancing in socks was difficult.  I was slipping and sliding all over the stage, I couldn’t have kept my footing to save my life. And then I fell off the front of the stage and landed directly in Lebron James’ lap – who happened to be sitting in the front row. I stood up, looked around in humiliation, and ran from the room in tears. Then I woke up.

I usually remember my dreams for a few hours before they’re gone – but I have a feeling this one’s gonna stick with me for awhile. So….lesson learned. I will never eat Cheetos before bed again, if this is what will happen.

I totally don’t remember how to make friends.

I used to have all kinds of friends, but nowadays I don’t have any. I believe I’ve mentioned that I am from Ohio… and well, I do have several friends there. But, if you’ve ever moved before you’ll understand me when I say that it’s just not the same. Talking to friends online or on the phone isn’t as fulfilling as having someone you can invite over for a few beers and video games. Plus I hate talking on the phone for long periods of time. Because when I’m on the phone, Peanut decides it’s the best time to crawl all over me and demand my constant attention and do stuff like scream: “MOM! MOM! HEEEYY MOM! LOOK AT MEEEE!” -While waving her cute little arms like she’s trying to land a 747.


I used to have friends in Kansas, but unfortunately I’ve had a hard time finding GOOD ones. You know, the kind that actually like me and don’t talk shit behind my back. I usually don’t have a problem making male friends (it’s probably the big ol’ boobies) but they only want to sleep with me. (Go figure.) What I want to find is a good, honest girlfriend; a girl close to my age that likes my company and who shares common interests with me, and who needs a “BFF” as much as I do.

Herein lies the problem: I’ve forgotten how to make friends. I’ve never been overly confident, in fact I’m pretty socially awkward. I have the pure inability to approach a stranger and say “Hey, let’s be friends!” And that would probably come across as weird, anyway. (And really, the fact that I consider that socially appropriate proves how horrible I am with people.) And when looking for female friends I find myself having to throw out the disclaimer that I’m totally not gay – I just need a friend. And then they walk away, while looking over their shoulder to make sure I’m not following them.

*sigh*

Dammit.

I’m a really nice person, once you get past my shy exterior. Really, I am! But I’m also a total weirdo. I don’t say normal things. I don’t enjoy the typical female 20-something activities. These things make it hard to find someone with common interests. I’ve had a few friends in the past that I have nothing but fond memories of…and they were weird too. Super weird. We acted like total idiots and laughed our asses off on a regular basis. …I miss them. I miss the company of funny people that are easy to be around. The kind of people that don’t try to bring pressure or complication into the friendship – they just like to have a good time. But they also genuinely want to be there for you when life gets to be not-so-funny.

So, I’ve been trying to find some new things that will help me branch out and meet people. To clarify, I’ve spent the last 2 years or so being pretty much totally cut off from the world. I mean, I go to work and stuff, but outside of that I don’t really leave the house. It’s difficult for me to venture into the world, or to even spend time outside with Peanut. I have developed the inability to make commitments or connections. I am terribly afraid of people, since the majority of them in my life have done nothing but hurt me and then leave. And not necessarily in that order, either.

I’ve thought of trying to get into a local book club – I checked with the library, but they don’t have a program like that. So then I thought I’d take a class at the local gym; something like yoga or self defense, or a mother/daughter dance class…but that was a no-go too. (Damn small towns.) My only other option with the gym is to join the adult volleyball or basketball team…which I think would end up creating more enemies instead of friends, because I royally suck at sports.

So I have signed up for cafemom.com, which I’m hoping will help me open some doors to new friendships. And I’m going to sign my daughter up for a toddler tumbling class, so maybe I can meet some other moms there too. And if any of you reading this have any other ideas, hook a blogger up! Help me find my place in the world. Or I’m just gonna give up entirely and take out an ad in the local paper that says something like this:

Lonely Loser Seeks Lifelong Friendship

 23 year old brunette; totally weird, kinda pretty, very funny. Trustworthy and genuine. Smart but not too smart, so you know I’m not an uptight bitch. Accepting and open minded, supportive and kind.

Likes: Video Games, Junk food, Laughing so hard you pee.

Dislikes: Stupid people, Exercise, Crowds.

Need not apply if you are:
-Overly religious (and by “overly” I mean trying to convert me)
-A “Negative Nancy” (Don’t drag me down, yo.)
-Smelly
-A Serial Killer – (not sure why that’s fourth on the list)
-Two-Faced (no drama allowed)

Apply by email ONLY. I don’t want to get flooded with phone calls from a bunch of fruitcakes. If you don’t hear back from me it means I don’t like you. Nothing personal. Ok, so maybe it’s a little personal.

The Flashing Owl

While I was on vacation last week, one of the places we visited was the zoo.  I love going to the zoo, and this time was no exception.  Except for the ungodly heat and humidity, which of course required me to bitch the whole time. (We walked for hours. There was some chafing. Enough said.)  Well this time we met a particularly interesting animal, who I created an entire story for in my head, that I thought I should share.  I call him "The Flashing Owl".

See what I mean?  He totally looks like a dude pulling open his trench coat and shakin his junk.









I named him Stan, and the other owl in the corner looked like an embarassed wife, whom I've named Mabel.  Stan is proud of his body, and he likes to show it off.  Mabel doesn't like it so much, but hey - they live in a zoo.  It can't be that exciting, so if that's what Stan needs to get his rocks off, then so be it.  Couples counseling has taught Mabel to choose her battles, and accept her husband for his faults. 

For all of you out there that don't speak owl or are having trouble with the body language, I'm here to help.  This is what was actually happening:

I think I might frame this and hang it in my living room.

Poor Mabel... and as for Stan, I think I might like to have a couple beers with this guy and see what he does.  I have a feeling it would involve public nudity of some sort, followed by youtube blackmail.  And really, what kind of night out is complete without that?  Not one I wanna be a part of.

Airports are Gateways to Hell: Part 2

So…picking up where I left off…


• I go to check into my replacement flight to Charlotte at 4 IN THE MORNING.

• I find out that my daughter’s ticket isn’t accounted for in the system. I have to go all the way down the hallway to customer service for my original flight and get the ticket number. So I do.

• I drag all my shit back to the check in for my replacement flight to Charlotte. I give them the ticket number. It doesn’t help. Apparently I need my daughters’ printed paper ticket from the original flight.


(At this point, we are no longer walking. We are running up and down this enormous check in floor from counter to counter like a couple of crazy people. Also, keep in mind that at every single stop along this “journey” we have to wait in lines that are getting increasingly longer. The clock is ticking closer and closer to our flight’s departure time, and we’re no closer to even getting checked in.  And we have been in the airport for 12 hours already.)


• I dragged all my shit BACK to the other counter at the opposite end of the hallway to get the damn paper ticket printed.

• I then took the paper ticket back to the check in counter for the flight I was 20 minutes away from missing. (And I still had to get through security and to the gate.)

• They said: “Oh, here it was the whole time!”

Me: *shooting daggers with my eyes and steaming from the ears*
“Hm. Imagine that. Are we all set? Can I go now? Thanks.”

After all of that, I run to security and throw all my shit up on the roller thingys and take my shoes off. (By the way, I hope they sanitize those floors often because if I end up having to get warts removed from my feet or some shit I’m gonna be sooooo pissed.) Anyway, the whole time Peanut is crying that she is hungry and tired and has to pee - and that she doesn’t want to run any more. (Join the club, kid.) I was gasping for air, telling her to suck it up and feeling like my chest is going to explode, but still running like my life depended on making that flight.

After riding an underground tram, I find that our gate is at the opposite end of the concourse. And this airport is huge, ya’ll. We had to have run like 5 miles, easily. Thank God for moving walkways. But still, we didn’t make it. The plane was long gone by the time we had arrived at the gate. I sat down for a moment to catch my breath after speaking to the representative at the counter, and then we were on our way to a THIRD flight company for our SECOND replacement tickets; which was, again, at the opposite end of the concourse from where we were.

We got there, waited in another really long line, and then I was relieved to find that the representative taking care of us was SUPER nice. You have no idea how thankful I was for a little compassion at that point. I thanked her tremendously for hooking us up, and was probably a little too enthused because she looked sort of creeped out when I dropped to my knees and thanked the good lord above for sending me an angel. (Ok, so that didn’t really happen. I’m not even religious. But the thought even occurring to me is proof that I was at the end of my rope.)

So, we went to the bathroom and I gave Peanut a “sink bath” - all the moms out there know what I’m talking about. I wiped her down with some wet paper towels and changed her clothes. See, I had packed an extra outfit for her in my carry on – just in case there was an “accident”. Too bad I didn’t do the same for me because at that point I smelled like locker room garbage and I would have KILLED for a change of clothes. But after we got cleaned up we went and got a bite of breakfast and got to relax for the last couple of hours before our flight left. When we finally got on the damn plane, we both fell asleep. For the entire ride.

3 hours later and we were in Ohio! We had an excellent vacation – lots of fun, from beginning to end. We went to the art museum, natural history museum, the zoo, the mall…it was a blast! We stayed with my mom and she introduced us to some of her friends, and one of them took some professional photos of Peanut, which I’m sure will turn out adorable. I swam at my dad’s pool and he took us on a golf cart ride through the golf course he manages. We played this game called “cornhole” (love that name, by the way) and ate lots of good food. All in all….I wish I was still on vacation.

*sigh*

Back to the real world. Has anybody else ever noticed that being a grown-up totally sucks?

Airports Are Gateways to Hell.

Finally, I'm back at it!  And you totally missed me while I was gone, huh?  I knew it.

For those of you just tuning in, I was on vacation last week. I went to Ohio to see my family and (what’s left of) my friends. I was excited to go home, but not so excited about the whole “getting there” part. I had to go to Denver International Airport, which is like the most enormous airport EVER. So naturally, I was a total wreck.


Well, we get through security and whatnot and arrive at our gate. Apparently the plane we were supposed to get on had been delayed, so we sat there for an hour. Now, I have a 3 year old child – and 8pm in a busy airport didn’t really get along with her. Suffice it to say that she was being a little monster, and had seemingly made it her sole mission to make me bat-shit crazy. We probably sounded something like this to the hundreds of people surrounding us:


Me: “Peanut, please come sit down. Do you want to color?”

Peanut: “No! I want some candy! Let’s go get some candy!”

Me: *sigh*
“No, you’re not getting any candy. It’s too late at night for candy. We’ll be on the plane soon, so come sit down with me. I’ll read you a book.”

Me: *pulls out like 8 books for her to choose from*
“Here, which one do you want to read?”

Peanut: “I HATE THOSE BOOKS!”

Me: (turning red with embarrassment, hanging my head)
“Get over here and sit down. Now.”
*Doing the super angry “I’m dead serious right now so KNOCK IT OFF” mom look*
*Pointing at chair next to me*

Peanut: (doing this weird throw-a-fit-while-walking thing)
“Aaaahhhhh I’m HUNGRAAY!”

Me: *sigh*
“Okay fine. Let’s go get some [fucking] candy.”



After an hour of this, we finally boarded the plane…and sat there for another hour. Apparently there were computer problems, then paperwork problems, then maintenance issues. Then the captain comes on the intercom with this classic (and not at all alarming, by the way) message: “This is bad. This is really, really, bad.”

*blink*

Awesome.

He proceeds to tell us that the airport we intended to fly into was closing all of their runways for construction. Our flight had been cancelled, so we had to de-board and make our way to customer service to get our tickets changed. At this point, it was nearly 10:00 pm. I had to drag the 2 carry on bags and the car seat back out of the plane and get in line. Where I spent the next 3 HOURS standing. At one point I imagined that if I were to get an X-Ray of my feet right then it would surely look like somebody dropped a glass vase and tried to put it back together with scotch tape. They hurt so bad I literally couldn’t stand, so several times I had to pop a squat and sit for a few minutes. Yeah – never wearing those shoes again.

The flight had been entirely full, and I was about halfway back in the line. There were no remaining flights out with that company for the next 2 days. I was hot and probably smelling like a big sweaty lumberjack – not to mention that I was completely exhausted, and at this point I was reaching nervous breakdown levels. My ride had dropped me off and left, and was 3 hours away by now. I couldn’t afford a hotel or a cab to get anywhere but the airport.

Finally I get up to the representative at the customer service counter – who, for the record was a total DICKWAD. He was totally arrogant and snarky and really just needed a swift slap in his wrinkly face. I would have been more than happy to oblige, but I thought it might hurt my chances on getting a decent replacement flight so I bit my lip. The next flight out was the following morning, and since there weren’t any direct flights it had a 2 hour layover in Charlotte, North Carolina. I wasn’t happy about that – but I just wanted to get to my mom’s house in Ohio and start my vacation. Plus I wasn’t totally batty about the thought of postponing my vacation. No way, dude. Not gonna happen.

This whole time Peanut is sleeping in her car seat on the floor, which I have been dragging on the floor behind me every time the line moved for the last 2 hours. The douchebag dude at the counter apparently didn’t listen to me telling him I had a child, and couldn’t see her from where he was sitting. So when he transferred my ticket for the next flight, he neglected to transfer HERS as well. And that’s when things got even more horrible and shitty and just grew into a big ol’ clusterfuck of problems for me to deal with. And that is a story for another day.

I'm On Vacation So Kiss My Ass

Yeah, so the title of this post pretty much says it all.  I am visiting my folks in Ohio, and our week of fun is almost up.  So when I get back to Kansas and my normal boring stank-ass routine, you'll be hearing from me.  See, you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up!  Because when someone gets their hopes up, I like to take a nice healthy dump on them.  I'm selfless like that.  See you soon, blog-land!