humor

TBTS (Throwback Thursday Stories): That Time I Almost Died after Watching The Bachelorette

I know a lot of stories start with the old, “it was just your average day,” but believe me when I say this really was just an average day. I did exactly what I would do every other weekday: got up, went to work, counted the minutes until lunch, planned all the productive things I would do once I got home, and then got home and sat on the couch.

For dinner, I decided to try a recipe for Fettuccine Alfredo I found online and while I ate I sat at the table exchanging stories with my sister about our respective Tuesdays. She told me about an upcoming exam, I told her about a customer at work, and we made predictions about that night’s upcoming episode of Jojo Fletcher’s season of The Bachelorette.

At one point in the conversation, she paused.

“Mom says we need to throw out our flour,” she said, looking at her phone.

“Why?”

“I guess some people are having issues with E-coli.”

“Yikes.”

I walked into the kitchen and snatched the half empty bag of flour from the top shelf of the pantry and dropped it into the trash. Better safe than sorry.

Now, if you’ve ever watched an episode of The Bachelor/Bachelorette franchise, you’ll know that alcohol is almost necessary to make it through the two-hour broadcast. So when my sister stood up a few minutes after we started and said, “I need some whiskey,” I wasn’t surprised. Though when she said, “do you want some?” and I said, “Yes!” I think we both should have sensed* that it was the beginning of the end.

*Let it be noted that my sister is an avid whiskey drinker. The kind that really appreciates the spirit for all it’s worth…and doesn’t chug it down the way I do with a glass of wine while watching this ridiculous television show.

So there we were, an hour into the episode, shoulder deep in awkward silences and painfully stilted small talk. I was on my second (or third?) glass of whiskey, cringing my skin off and talking a little louder than usual, when all of a sudden a sip hit my stomach and the warning sirens went off.

YOU DONE DID IT NOW, GIRL.

“I need to pee,” I said, panicked.

I got up, my body feeling like it was 4000 pounds, the bathroom feeling like it was four miles away, and the ground feeling as stable as a tightrope during an earthquake. When I finally sat down on the toilet, I wondered if I’d ever get back up, which made me emotional and I cried a little. Then I remembered I had to pee, which reminded me I’d have to get up afterward and the cycle went on and on. All in all, I thought I was in there for about 45 minutes, but when I got back to the living room I realized it had been only been around four.

I waddled into the kitchen and grabbed my water bottle, praying I could chug my way to safety, then waddled back to my seat in the living room.

“Ready?” my sister asked.

“Yup.”

After that, I can remember very little of what happened during the episode and even less of what my sister and I may have talked about. In somewhat miraculous fashion however, I was able to maintain a sober-enough composure to not only convince my sister I was fine before she went to bed, but also make it up 10 stairs to my bedroom. Unfortunately, this would be my last accomplishment worth celebrating for the night.

Upon arriving to my bed, I knew something was wrong. While it was a hot summer night, I felt like I was sweating far more than usual. I cranked the fan up to high and stripped down to my underwear, then turned off the light in the hopes that I could crash fast and sleep it off.

No such luck.

The moment I closed my eyes, I felt like the room was spinning one way and I was spinning the other. I opened my eyes, wondering if I was on the ceiling or the floor, then turned the light on to see if focusing on something would help. When this didn’t work, I tried taking deep breaths and when this didn’t work, I slumped into the bathroom, accepting my doom.

Over the next two hours, I threw up 11 times.

ELEVEN.

Around the fifth time, as I lay my face against the toilet seat, working my way through every prayer and promise I could think of to try and make it all stop, I thought of the text my mom sent earlier…and then of the flour I’d added to the blender to make my Alfredo sauce.

I closed my eyes and spun and then I opened them and the drunk tears came pouring out.

“I’m dying,” I said out loud to myself, “I have E-coli and I’m dying.”

I thought about calling for my sister and telling her to call 911—and to start taking down the notes for my last will and testament—but I couldn’t move. When I tried to, I threw up.

To make matters worse, the next time I opened my eyes and looked down in the toilet, everything was bright red.

Is—is that…blood?

It wasn’t blood.

It was Fruit Punch Crystal Light, which I’d mixed in with my water that afternoon—the same water I started chugging after my (first) emotional trip to the bathroom when I realized I’d passed the point of no return. I would figure this out around the tenth time I threw up but until then I would give an Academy Award worthy performance of pathetic.

I collapsed, face first, onto the toilet seat and I cried. I thought of my family and how I’d let them down by not keeping myself up to date with current food safety alerts. I thought of Gold Medal Flour and how my parents would surely Erin Brockovich their way to a settlement for my untimely demise. I thought of the future children I’d never have and of all the mourning faces present at my funeral. I hoped they served cake at the reception, and then I threw up thinking about it.

Eventually I fell asleep. And with my knees on the tile, my head on the toilet seat, and the bowl full of whiskey and Crystal light, I definitely must have looked dead. And sad. And PSA worthy.

Yes, that Tuesday night I was the don’t end up like this girl, girl.

The next morning, when my work alarm went off at 6:30 a.m., I opened my eyes to the memories of what had occurred merely hours previous. I had a lot of thoughts rushing around, most of which were curse words, and I wobbled back into the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash my face and kick off another “average” day.

When I got to work, I googled the E. Coli outbreak and discovered that it didn’t apply to our flour, so I lay my head on my desk, hungover and ashamed.

I hadn’t eaten contaminated flour.

I hadn’t thrown up blood.

I’d just gotten drunk on whiskey and secondhand cringe and I’d paid the price.

Eleven times.

Needless to say, I now drink wine when I watch The Bachelorette—or, currently, The Bachelor—and during those particularly hard episodes, I color.

We live and we learn.

2018 Ornament Superlatives (List-cember #3)

One of my favorite List-cember traditions is going through the ornaments on my family’s Christmas tree and giving them superlatives. This year we were on top of our decorating game and had our tree up two days after Thanksgiving, giving us ample time to appreciate our extensive collection of ornaments, and giving me ample time to reward them just for being them.

Thus, here is the third installment of Ornament Superlatives, enjoy!

(Also, in case you missed it, you can check out the first installment here and the second installment here.)

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Most Likely to Give You PETDMD (Post Emotionally Traumatic Disney Movie Disorder)

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Most Likely to Have Seen Better Days (And Make You Wonder if Whoever was Given the Skinny Stocking Felt a Little Unloved)

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Most Likely to Make You Start (Punny) Caroling 

(And Grab a Seasonal Drink from the Fridge)

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Most Likely to Make Dodger Fans Relive Their World Series Sadness

(for the second year in a row)

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Most Likely to Inspire Your Crafting Spirit…and then Awaken Your Perfectionist Mindset…and then Make You Lay in a Pile of Your Own Untalented Despair

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Most Accurate Representation of a Third Child’s First Christmas

Note: please refer to the ornament celebrating my first Christmas in the 2016 Ornament Superlatives

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Most Likely to Have Been Upcycled into an Ornament Just Because it’s Pretty

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Most Likely to Ignite the Argument: Ginger Angel Sitting in Front of a Fireplace OR French Fairy Hovering in Front of a Fireplace?

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Most Likely to Make You Want to Buy A Roll of Sugar Cookie Dough

(or Most Likely to Convince Overly Egg-Nogged Family Members it is a sugar cookie)

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Most Likely to Have Written an Article for Cosmopolitan on How to Improve Your #LashGame

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Most Likely to Start a Light-Hearted but Extremely Passive Aggressive Argument between College Football Fans

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Some Suggestions for Netflix

You know that weird thing we all do? The thing where we sit down to watch a movie on Netflix and then spend 45 minutes scrolling and sighing and shaking our heads.

“No.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Maybe next time.” 

Then we look through the list of movies we’ve previously saved with the intention of making this scrolling process easier, only to hate every suggestion from our past selves, which in turn leads us to turn on a movie we’ve already seen far too many times.

Then, we wake up the next day wondering why we’re not more cultured and can’t keep up with conversations about all the great movies Netflix has to offer.

I have lived this life for a long time. It’s the reason why I have to set goals that require me to broaden my horizons. Otherwise I’d just watch The Fundamentals of Caring over and over and over again, all the while making the excuse that I would watch something else, even something I’ve seen before, if only Netflix added ______ to their catalog.

All that being said, I recently found out that you can submit suggestions to Netflix for what movies and TV shows they should add to their catalog.

Can you imagine?! Such power! At our fingertips!

You better believe I took advantage of it. Here were some of my suggestions:

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1) The Mary Kate & Ashley Movies

I see you, Netflix. Double, Double, Toil and Trouble. New York Minute. You’re not completely depriving me of Olsen twin goodness. But can we get some Billboard Dad up in here? Switching Goals, maybe? Or how about a few (or all, let’s be real) of the You’re Invited episodes? I haven’t been invited anywhere by the Olsen twins since VHS’s were in fashion and it’s depressing.

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2) Spice World

I’ve actually never seen Spice World, which I realize is a crime of sorts. And with the girls going back on tour next year, this movie could very well become a common topic of conversation again, and I’ll just be standing there, shrugging, with no idea how to contribute. Save me from the shrugging, Netflix! I want to fit in!

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3) Legends of the Hidden Temple

There has never been a game show that has infuriated me more than Legends of the Hidden Temple. It just never seemed like any of the kids on the show were trying. I mean, they were walking from obstacle to obstacle. WALKING. As if it wasn’t a COMPETITION. Actually, now that I think about it, it might be healthy for me not to rewatch this series…but I’m still suggesting it, just because I feel like it might be a good way to get out some aggression after a long day.

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4) Say Anything…

I looked it up, and apparently this was on Netflix and taken off in November of 2014, but I think it should come back. Sure, I’m a little biased because it’s my favorite movie of all time and includes one of the most iconic scenes—John Cusack holding a boombox over his head—in cinematic history and I want everyone to watch it so we can all sit around talking about it for hours, but this isn’t just for me. It’s for everyone.

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5) Rescue 911

This show went off the air when I was 6, but I still remember it vividly. Each episode showcased real life 911 calls. The corresponding situations were simulated to demonstrate when/why the calls were made and sometimes actual tape from the call was played to give you the full experience. I loved this show because it was essentially all about people helping people and in every episode the paramedics would come to the rescue. In another life, I might have taken my passion for this show and turned it into a career, but instead I’m just writing about it while I sit on the couch eating macaroni and cheese…

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I’m sure there are a lot more—too many more—that I’d also like to request, but I can’t think of them off the top of my head. However, now that I know I have the power to request, I’ll make sure to start writing them down the minute I can’t find them and the disappointment sets in and I click play on The Fundamentals of Caring again. Consider me a soon-to-be frequent requester, Netflix. I look forward to our time together.

Why My Roommate Should be the Next Host of Jeopardy

Greetings people of the Internet, I’m here to discuss something incredibly important.

It has recently been brought to my attention that Alex Trebek is on his (be it, long and slow) way out from the Jeopardy hosting position. Word on the street is that he will abdicate his all knowing thrown in the year 2020. And while I’m sure there are ideas in circulation and contracts in negotiation, none could possibly measure up to this forthcoming submission: my roommate, Rachel.

How? You might ask. How could I possibly know she could cut it, especially in comparison to other candidates, the caliber of which I am yet to know?

To put it simply, and to emulate the words of so many bended knee proposal speeches, regretful gut feelings, and completed newlywed house hunts, sometimes you just know. And in this case, I just know.

Having watched hours of Jeopardy with Rachel by my side, I can first and foremost verify her genuine interest in the show. She enjoys the creatively phrased questions and would undoubtedly deliver them in that familiar, engaged and excited, while completely controlled manner.

She would challenge the contestants, willing them to dig deep into their studies as she delivered riddles and word problems with a confidence that dared them to answer no matter the cost.

On a Daily Double, when the competition teetered between nail biting and cake taking, she’d encourage risk. Listing the facts of the contestant’s fate, while simultaneously (and inconspicuously) teasing them to tempt it.

Are you worried about the key pronunciation of a book, movie, television show or other pop culture reference? Well, worry no more. Rachel is well versed in many genres, giving her a solid foundation of valuable knowledge, the likes of which she could utilize both as quizmaster and friendly interviewer.

Rachel is witty, clever and unique, sure to make contestants and audiences alike laugh, think, and double-take, all while creating an encouraging and welcoming environment capable of fostering healthy and compelling competition.

Not to mention, she’s got an incredible sense of style. The kind that would inspire conversations not only regarding her presence and professionalism, but her cute ass shoes as well. She would become a strong and powerful female figure in the media—that can rock a warm pallet like no other; a go-to, “I love it!” Halloween costume; an obvious choice for an elementary worksheet “who do you want to be when you grow up” fill in.

So, ABC, while I imagine the search for this replacement (understandably) seems like an impossible task, I hope you’ll now realize that it’s not. Because when it comes down to it, there’s only one right choice, and she’s currently sitting next to me eating pulled pork.

A Small Collection of Small Thoughts

Sometimes when I’m going about my day I come up with questions and ideas that wouldn’t necessarily work as full blown blog posts but still have a way of distracting me for the better part of the day.

They all start with a “what if” or a “you know what, I’ve never thought of that” and then I (somehow) drive around thinking about them until I get home (without really remembering how) and I do my necessary research so that the thought(s) can leave my brain.

Am I the only one who does this? At what point should I be concerned about my spaced out driving? Also, I wonder what my “spaced out driving” face looks like. I hope I at least have the wherewithal to close my mouth.

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On Thumbs

Have you ever thought about how dirty thumbs are?

I’m not talking dirty in a sexual way, I’m talking dirty in a bacterial type of way.

Think about it. When you were little and had something on your cheek, what’s the first thing your mom would do? Lick her thumb and wipe it off, horrifically embarrassing you in the process, right?

Now think about every time you’ve ever seen a speck of dirt/deodorant/makeup/etc. on your person/counter/car/etc. and needed a quick fix to get it off. What is the first thing you did?

Exactly.

But you want to know the weirdest part? Thumbs never look dirty. Where does it all go?

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On Hogwarts

If magic and Hogwarts are actually real things posing as fiction, and I’m just a muggle living in hopeless ignorance, I’m going to be so pissed.

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On Hair

Did you know that once your hair pokes out of your scalp it dies?

Truth.

Below the skin are blood vessels that feed the hair, helping it grow, but once it pokes out, the cells inside it die. That’s right: DIE.

So basically we spend hours and hours and hours of our life crying in bathrooms and groaning on hot days and envying awards show pictures over something that is long dead.

Remember that time you cut your hair and hated it so you spent days looking in the mirror telling it to grow? Ever wonder why it didn’t? Probably because all it heard was, “DIE FASTER SO I WILL LOVE YOU AGAIN.”

You monster.

Give your hair a break. It’s the only corpse people will ever compliment you on wearing, and that’s pretty special.

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On Lunch

I’m never going to be the kind of person that says, “is it lunch time already?” There is no surprise factor here, I’ve been counting down for five hours.

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On Bob

Do they make rulers with other rulers?

Like was there an original ruler that set the standards for all other rulers and now we’re essentially relying on that to be right until the end of eternity?

What if that ruler was wrong? Or what if at some point in history some guy named Bob was working the ruler assembly line and he purposefully botched one, then used that botched ruler as the new original ruler, thus trolling the entire world until the end of time?!

He’s probably sitting at home, smoking a cigar, watching men and women alike lie to themselves about the length of their extremities, humming the rick roll anthem 24 hours a day.

What a monster.

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On Bruno Mars

Am I ever going to be as comfortable in jeans as Bruno Mars is in silk?

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So if you ever see me driving around looking spacey, these are the kinds of things I’m thinking about.

It’s really hard hitting stuff.

TBTS (Throwback Thursday Stories): The 40 Penises of Freshman Year

Today we are throwing it back in a few different ways to a few different places.

Throwback Thursday Stories is a segment I used to do on my blog which, as the name suggests, included a “throwback” story that I posted on Thursdays. (We like to keep it literal over here.)

On top of that, the story I’m posting today was one of the very first I ever had published. The website, In the Powder Room—which unfortunately is no longer active ☹—was actually responsible for both of my first ever publications (the other was about the first time I did a juice cleanse which you can read here) and the friendly editors that helped me prepare my post were the first people to ever make me feel like a real writer.

And on top of that, I figured since school has started back up for a lot of people, why not re-share one of the most—uh, unexpected first days I ever had?

It’s a win win win as far as I’m concerned.

(Except for past Kim, she’s still a little shaken up.)

There I was on the first day of my second semester art class. While completely ashamed of my lack of artistic ability, I was just as determined to improve as I was the previous semester. I walked into room 68 and found a spot near the front just as my teacher clapped her hands together to get our attention.

“We’re going to dive right in this morning. No use wasting any of this precious time. Let’s just keep it loose and have fun today.”

I nodded, smiled, and quickly began to search my bag for my pencil box, silently pondering what we’d be drawing.

As I propped up my drawing pad, a man took the stage my teacher had vacated and I saw him nod to the class before I flipped open the front cover to reveal my first blank page.

Now, the actual fall time of the front cover behind my seat was probably around a second or two, if that, but due to its likeness to a curtain on Broadway, the descent seemed to last a lifetime.

Beginning with its peak height—which completely blocked my view of the stage—the cover fell slowly, carefully revealing what I was sketching inch by inch. First I saw the man’s head. His eyes were gazing away from me, towards the door in the back left corner of the room. Then I saw his chest, now bare, and his arms laden with goosebumps. Then I saw his…WAIT, WHAT?! The cover hit the back of the chair and I sat, stunned and still amongst my classmates, unaware of what to do. I started again with his head, sure I’d had some kind of pornographic stroke. I again moved down his chest and arms until I again found his…

WHAT KIND OF CLASS IS THIS?!

I looked around, desperate to find someone in the same amount of shock. And while I saw a few of my classmates wincing as they sketched, making a conscious effort to keep their eyes up, no one seemed to completely object to our subject.

“If you are uncomfortable, or feel it will use too much of your time, please feel free to draw fig leaves in the place of genitalia. And if the time comes that you do feel comfortable, challenge yourself to complete full body sketches.”

I’m a modest person. I knew the day would never come when I’d find myself adding drop shadows to a stranger’s anaconda, so after class I assigned myself five hours hard research on the anatomy of a fig leaf.

Much to my surprise however, intricate knowledge of this greenery would do me no favors as the parade of peckers continued throughout the semester. I failed to take into account the variety of sizes and shapes that would take the stage, and I neglected to consider the impact the model’s pose would have on the angle at which gravity would…umm…pull.

Not to mention, despite my thorough research, there were times my fig leaves failed to appear, well, leaf-ish. For example, one afternoon I sketched a man that appeared to be squatting on a burning bush, and later that week, I drew a gentleman whose crotch had seemingly sprouted a snowflake.

To make up for the blunders down under, I decided to start drawing the models’ facial features.  I reasoned that if I was forcing my teacher to grade a drawing of a man giving birth to a pineapple, the least I could do was give her a face to sympathize with.

This however, did not go well.

Turns out, if you are as tremendously terrible as I am, a butt chin can look a lot like what is hidden behind a fig leaf, and facial hair can look a lot like what keeps it warm in the winter.

As the semester drew on, it was clear that I was never going improve; however, I did grow more comfortable with being told to stare at a man I’d never met as he pointed both up and down at the same time. I even went back and forth on the idea of taking that next step with my colored pencils, and attempting a schlong sketch. What did I have to lose?

Ultimately however, I talked myself out of it. I concluded that any attempt I made would not only be pitiful, but also insulting. Picture a kid trying to explain a drawing of their family to their teacher in preschool. Now picture me explaining why I’ve added a pre-explosion Hindenburg blimp between the legs of Bob from Torrance to my college professor.

On the upside, I did eventually perfect that fig leaf.

10 Things I Do Incorrectly

Ever since the day we were born, we’ve been taught to do things a certain way—or at least the way our family (and those around us) deem acceptable. Then, as we make our way out into the world and see other people doing things in completely different ways, we have one of two reactions:

  1. We are intrigued and overall impressed, thus we adopt this new method.
  2. We are horrified.

I’m not afraid to admit I have habits that (I guess) might horrify people. Not in a clinical way or one that would warrant an arrest or anything. But some that would definitely provoke a dirty look or at the very least a pity nod and a side glance to someone equally as upset.

Don’t get me wrong, this post is not a promise to change any of them. It’s also not an apology. I’m just pointing them out to let you know that I know, and also to let you know what I know in case you’re wondering if anyone else does what you do, you know?

For example:

1) Tie My Shoes

I was never able to figure out how to work the loop, swoop and pull method, so I’m still rocking the bunny ears. Honestly, I prefer this method. I think it allows a tighter (a.k.a more efficient) tie.

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2) Follow Washing Instructions

As a persistent rule follower this is a little out of character for me, but I get so aggravated that some clothes require this and some require that. I do stick to the basics: colors vs. whites, but when it comes to machine wash vs. hand wash, I’m more than likely to go survival of the fittest on you and cross my fingers you make it out of the washer and drier. If you do, I dub thee worthy of my closet.

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3) I Cut the Crusts off My Sandwiches

I’m sorry but crusts are gross and I will never apologize for this. The only thing I’ll admit is a little weird is that crusts don’t bother me when the bread is toasted. But I feel like that’s because it’s a more consistent texture…or something.

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4) Handwriting

My handwriting is an absolute disaster. It’s a strange combination of cursive, chicken scratch and both lower and upper case letters. It’s a shame too, because I actually love writing and receiving letters. But when I look at the way I write, it’s not a big mystery why I’ve never been able to keep a consistent pen pal.

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5) I’m Right-Handed and Left-Handed

(Not really) speaking of hands, mine are moody. While my right is dominant in most everything in my daily life, I’ve always batted left-handed. As a result, I also golfed left-handed, however, I recently learned that I have a better right-handed golf swing. So basically my body is having a constant identity crisis.

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6) I Hate Peanut Butter & Coffee

I feel as though both of these preferences have been regarded as sins at some point during my life, and while I’d like to apologize (I guess) for being unable to relate/obsess/meme with you, there’s really not a whole lot I can do about this.

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7) Dream

This is one of those things where I know I don’t really have any control over it, but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong. I just have weird dreams. And not the “haha how funny” kind of dreams, I’m talking mouth agape, friends concerned and inquiring about professional opinions type of weird. I’ve written about some of them (which you can read here and here) but they just seem to keep on coming. Just the other night I had a dream about peeling the top layer of skin off of my face. Mind you I had this dream after a relaxing evening of watching a romantic comedy and coloring.

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8) I Occasionally Misuse “Literally”

I understand this is a terrible (literary) crime, especially since I like to consider myself someone with a relatively good handle on the English language. But I can’t help it! Sometimes I find myself in the middle of a story where the punch line feels so unbelievable that the person I’m talking to couldn’t possibly believe how serious I am. So I’ll say, “LITERALLY,” before the big reveal, that way they know I’m not screwing around. And even though it doesn’t make sense, and there are people who would say, “oh yeah, and what would it have been like figuratively,” the way I see it, it’s their choice to be a jerk. All I was trying to do was get them as excited about hearing my story as I was telling it, and I wanted the ending to literally blow their mind. Into a million pieces. Yes, I wanted my story to be so good it murdered them.

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9) Tanning

I understand that I have pale skin. I also understand that tanning is terrible for your skin, which is why I don’t often do it. But can someone explain to me why, when we spend a few hours in the sun, I come home 98% pale, with blotchy sunburns on my knees and a tan line from my FitBit, and my sister comes back a golden brown sun goddess? Something about that just doesn’t seem right.

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10) I Scrunch

This is more of a shrugged acceptance rather than a confident statement, as I don’t know if there is actually a designated “right way.” The other day I was watching a video on YouTube where someone mentioned they “scrunch” their toilet paper rather than “fold” it when they wipe, and there was an uproar among the adjacent parties. Words like “monster” and “animal” were used. Meanwhile, there I am, knowing full well I’ve scrunched my whole life, wondering if I’m some sort of deranged psychopath and don’t even know it? To settle this, please feel free to add your two cents here:

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In the end, some of these things are biological and some could be addressed in a nature vs. nurture argument, but most of these things are just because…me. I don’t want to apologize because I don’t think I should have to change, but I also don’t want to say I don’t want to change because my analytical side likes to weigh the pros and cons of both sides.

Except on crusts that is. You ain’t changin’ my mind on crusts.

This Blog was Written by My Dog

Hello.

Yes, yes I am cute.

And I’m hungry.

I’m always hungry and cute. Always.

Sometimes I feel like people judge me for it, but I can’t help it.

I woke up in a great mood this morning.

Going to bed at a decent hour probably had something to do with that.

My family likes to stay up late and watch TV at an unfathomable volume, and in MY room no less. I guess I have the best TV, but something tells me they’re wasting its potential by watching a bunch of sports and network dramas. Doesn’t anyone watch the Discovery Channel anymore?!

And don’t even get me started on the other dog we got a couple years ago. She’s always up in my business. Always. I love her, though. So much. But stop looking at her. AND DON’T GET THAT CLOSE.  She’s mine.

Anyways.

I was lucky last night because my family got tired early, which meant I could go to bed early. And since I know them (and love them!) really well, I could tell they were getting tired way before my sister, so I snagged the big dog bed and pretended to be asleep before she even knew what hit her.

She was mad. It was funny.

I love her.

The sun was particularly lovely this morning, which immediately made me want to go outside and pee. My sister wanted to play, but it was too early. I just wanted to lay in the grass and look at the bugs that fly around.

She doesn’t like when I don’t want to play. Sometimes she’ll even bite at my legs to try and rile me up. It’s annoying, but I love her. Plus, I know how to get her in trouble. And when she gets in trouble, I usually get some extra pets. I’m clever.

I have a love/hate relationship with summer. It’s a much more social season for me. I tend to meet lots of new people and my family is together more, which makes me happy, but this heat is ruff. I spend most of my time dreaming about the next cold place I’m going to put my body.

Dog Tip: If you’re ever at my house and get really hot, just put your face on the floor in the kitchen or underneath my dad’s reclining chair. Those are the best spots.

Some days my family shares popsicles with me. They take the first lick and then I get the rest and then they get another popsicle for themselves. Sometimes I try to lick that one too, but they say no and kiss my nose.

They’re hilarious.

I like to go hiking too. There is a stream that we cross and my mom lets me off the leash and I run through the water and kick it around and dance. It’s the best thing ever. I love it. I wish we could stay in the water for the whole time, but my mom likes to move on eventually. She wants to get the top of the big hill. Sometimes she even asks me to help her get up the big hill, but it’s a really hard hill and I’m not as young as I used to be, mom. But I love you.

I have a basket of clothes at my house. I love dressing up for special occasions. I have one shirt that is for football. It’s blue, I love it. My family has the same shirt. We match and it makes me happy. I also have one for Halloween. It has stripes and when I wear it my family calls me “rufferee” instead of my name. I love it. One of my favorites is my sweater. I love it. My family lets me put it on when it’s cold outside and they are hanging shiny balls on a tall tree that they bring into the house.

My family’s crazy.

I hope they know how much I love them, though. I think it might even be more than they love me. But I think that’s only because sometimes I bark more than I should at strangers that come to visit and they tell me to stop but I’m too nervous that they are mean strangers instead of nice ones. I hope they forgive me. Not the strangers, my family. The strangers can chase their tail for all I care. I hope they never catch it. My family though, I’d help them catch their tails if they wanted to. They’re the best. Make sure you tell them I said so too, it might get me a treat.

To the People Who Get My Organs

I’m an organ donor. I’ve got the sticker on my license and everything. And when I die—which hopefully will be in a timely manner, but you never know—I hope my body can piñata it’s way into the hands of people who need it more than I will.

To those people, whether you’re reading this on my blog, or on some kind of high tech floating orb in the mid 2000s, first off, hey! I totally used to be alive and typing this in my living room. Super sorry I’m dead so we can’t meet, but super glad my deadness can provide you with some superior aliveness. But before you take one—or more if it’s a perfect match/buffet type of situation—of my organs, I just wanted to provide you with some you should know’s about said organs that might help you acclimate quicker.

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1) My eyes

I’ve always liked my eyes. I think they’re a good shade of brown—not too, you know, just brown­—and they have kickass vision. If you’re lucky enough to get them in the same shape they’re in right now, expect a lot of people to ask you, “what does that say up there?” because somehow you’ll be able to see it and you won’t know why. But watch out, you’ll also have a tendency to try and read too fast and you’ll mix words up. So just keep it cool and take your time. That is, unless you’re playing Jeopardy at home with your family, then by all means, read the question quicker than everyone else so you can answer first and win a point.

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2) My Lungs

Let me tell you, the three of us have been on quite the journey. When I was in high school, I was convinced I had what I called “baby lungs” that were too weak to function (a.k.a run) when really I was just out of shape and needed to push through the hard part. So if you get one or both of these bad boys, expect some push back should you ever try to strive for any athletic accomplishments. But don’t let them win! They are strong and they are capable of a hell of a lot, you just need to give ‘em time to warm up.

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3) My Liver

My liver and I actually have a very good relationship. We’re like the Gilmore Girls but with less coffee. Sure there are times when we’ve hurt each other, but we worked through it and came out stronger than ever. So just treat my liver like Rory would Lorelai and vice versa, and never shy away from a good pun in times of need.

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4) My Kidneys

I’m not gonna lie, I actually had to look up what kidneys do—which FYI is remove waste and excess water from the blood—so I could feel properly prepared to prep you. Good news is, from what I’ve read, I treat my kidneys like fine wine! I’m an avid water drinker, which is the kidney equivalent of catnip. That being said, you might want to invest in a large—say, 32 ounces or so—reusable water bottle, as these guys are constantly craving that good H20. Straight up.

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5) My Skin

For those of you who might be needing either a skin sweater and/or a quilty like patch job, I have answers, but I also have questions. First off, we burn easily y’all. But then, would that even come into play? From what I’m reading, it really all depends on what kind of trouble the universe has put you in. If you really truly do get a big chunk of this epidermis and it works all Freaky Friday like, expect a lot of goosebumps and the occasional pop up of eczema with no rhyme or reason. Also: FRECKLES. Because when we don’t burn, we freckle like it’s our job. I’m looking down at my arms right now and it’s like the night sky up in here. I hope you get Orion’s Belt, that’s one of my favorites.

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6) My Bones

These guys have been through a lot, but I like to think they like me more than they hate me, so I assume they’ll feel the same about you. They like to crack a lot, but try to think of it as their way of saying “hi” rather than “help.” They like yoga, but they love lying down after long day of work. Also, they love ice cream. Because, you know, calcium. So make sure you get at least a few servings every week.

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7) My Heart

When I say this gal is in the right place, I mean that both literally and figuratively. I was literally born with my heart in the right place—because FYI you can be born with it in the wrong place, I am learning so much right now—and I also often feel the old girl pushing and pulling me to do what’s right. Also, expect a lot of pounding. She tends to get a little worked up when she sees something that she likes or something that makes her nervous. She’ll settle down though. Try chewing through a pack of fruity Mentos and putting on good playlist.

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I’ll admit, it’s a little weird talking about giving you my organs. Especially since they’re so cozy and upbeat on the inside of living me right now. But I have faith they’ll treat you right. And hey, if all else fails, try kettle corn and a John Cusack movie, that usually puts all of us in this body at ease.

 

 

 

Learning Internet Slang

Recently I’ve noticed that the Internet is chock-full of…well, gibberish. It seems like I’m constantly having to Google new words so I can try and understand what the hell people are talking about. I still never end up using them, but at least I feel like I have some context clues.

This got me thinking.

Since I am probably the most informed on slang—mostly because I feel like as a blogger I have to be—but still continue to struggle, it might be kind of funny to see how tuned in my family is.

So I asked them. (Well, everyone except my brother. But that’s only because I’ve heard him use some of these words so I felt like this would be too easy for him.)

All I gave them was the word. I wouldn’t give it to them in a sentence, so as to avoid giving them context clues, and I asked them all separately so they wouldn’t play off of each other.

These were the results:

1) Woke

Urban Dictionary Definition: a reference to how people should be aware in current affairs.

Natalee’s (my sister) Guess: Oh, um, like you’re really in the times. And you know what’s up. So like, if you’re drinking the fizzy water, you’re probably pretty woke, because that’s what people do now. So, you know, I’m woke.

Dad’s Guess: Like W-O-K-E? Woke just means to be highly alert.

Mom’s Guess: I feel woke, I’m ready to roll. I’m awake and ready to go.

2) Lit

Urban Dictionary Definition: When something is turned up or popping

Natalee’s Guess: Oh I know this one! Well…I don’t really know how to describe it. Umm, it means it’s a banger, that’s another term right? Like it’s really off the hook.

Dad’s Guess: That means it’s like, happenin’.

Mom’s Guess: I’ve heard this one used. Do you say, “she’s lit” or “he’s lit”? Doesn’t that mean that they are IT? Like, they’re cool.

3) Fire

Urban Dictionary Definition: incredible, hot, crazy, nice…etc

Natalee’s Guess: Can you give it me in a sentence? Because I’ve heard people say, “that’s fire” so does it mean, like, awesome, turned up? Is it the same as lit?

Dad’s Guess: The only thing I can think of is being on fire, like going 4 for 4 in a game or making three beer pong balls in a row.

Mom’s Guess: Well that one’s…dumb. That shouldn’t slang because it’s an actual thing. But I guess it has to mean you’re hot or maybe something that’s cool. Wait, is it like an oxymoron?!

4) GOAT

Urban Dictionary Definition: greatest of all time

Natalee’s Guess: GREATEST OF ALL TIME.

Dad’s Guess: Greatest of all time! Kobe Bryant!

Mom’s Guess: GREATEST OF ALL TIME! A.k.a DAD

5) Extra

Urban Dictionary Definition: over the top, excessive, dramatic behavior, way too much

Natalee’s Guess: Oh! Well…I mean, it just means extra. You’re just very in it–just all the way.

Dad’s Guess: Other than the literal meaning of wanting more of something I can’t think of what else it would mean.

Mom’s Guess: I just learned about this!! What did you tell me it meant?! Wait, hold on, let me go back in my brain. When somebody’s extra they’re…isn’t it like…shoot I didn’t pay attention. I think it means a lot, like a personality that’s difficult.

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6) Salty

Urban Dictionary Definition: Being upset, angry, or bitter as result of being made fun of or embarrassed.

Natalee’s Guess: Oh, this is when you’re upset but also sarcastic. So you’re not like “angry”, you’re just like woah, salty. You’re not really pissed, you’re just kind of…irritated.

Dad’s Guess: I would say that means you have a negative opinion on everybody. You’re just a salty old dude.

Mom’s Guess: Somebody who, like, “ooh you’re salty, spicy, you’re wild.”

7) Snatched

Urban Dictionary Definition: This term took over for “on fleek” and is often used to describe your eyebrows, your clothes, your hair—anything that looks on point.

Natalee’s Guess: Um…snatched…does that mean you’re taken over by something?

Dad’s Guess: Oh man. I can only imagine what Urban Dictionary’s definition is. Snatched….snatched…snatched…I would say uhh…snatched…that one’s almost as hard as “extra.” Hmmm…snatched. Ummm like you were ripped off?

Mom’s Guess: You’ve been kidnapped? Or maybe you are taken. You are in love.

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8) Keep it 100

Urban Dictionary Definition: To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth

Natalee’s Guess: Tell the truth, be yourself, no bullshit.

Dad’s Guess: I would say that means to put all of yourself into everything.

Mom’s Guess: Be completely honest.

9) Bye Felicia

Urban Dictionary Definition: When someone says that they’re leaving and you could really give two shits less that they are.

Natalee’s Guess: Isn’t it the same as “boy bye”? Like bitch, get out.

Dad’s Guess: When you’re writing someone off.

Mom’s Guess: What people might say to Trump?

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10) Savage

Urban Dictionary Definition: badass, cool, someone who does not care about the consequences of his or her actions.

Natalee’s Guess: When somebody burns you or says something that is like WOAAHHHH, that is really savage, that really got you, they called you out.

Dad’s Guess: Savage would mean something that’s just ruthless—you don’t care who it offends. It would be like if I walked up to you and took the last chip off your plate even though I knew you were hungry.

Mom’s Guess: Somebody’s who is super athletic.

11) Hundo P

Urban Dictionary Definition: 100%

Natalee’s Guess: (completely sarcastically, because she, like me, had never ever heard of this) Oh, well that obviously means like, when you’re in line for a club and you have to pee but don’t want to lose your spot, so you pay someone $100 to hold your spot, and then you go to the bathroom real quick. Then when you come back, you get your $100 back, because you were never really paying them, it was more of a placeholder. But only for the VIP’s. Hundo P = VIP

Dad’s Guess: I would say that means you got lots of $100 bills in your wallet—you’re loaded.

Mom’s Guess: I think it’s when you’ve been drinking a lot and you’ve GOT TO GO.

12) Stan

Urban Dictionary Definition: overzealous fan

Natalee’s Guess: Does every letter stand for something? Like supporttalk…and then I don’t know.

Dad’s Guess: I’m thinking it’s what you call someone that’s unsociable. “That guy over there is being such a stan.”

Mom’s Guess: Someone very feminine.

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13) Ship

Urban Dictionary Definition: to endorse a romantic relationship

Natalee’s Guess: It means you, like, support

Me: Specifically…?

Her: Relationships?

Me: Correct.

Dad’s Guess: S-H-I-P? I would say what that means is you’re so hip, you’re just…I don’t know. You’re with the times.

Mom’s Guess: I don’t know, maybe like a…bigger person.

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14) OTP

Urban Dictionary Definition: one true pairing, a couple that is perfect for each other

Natalee’s Guess: um, original…true…PERSON. Like, you the realist.

Dad’s Guess: The only thing that comes to mind is from work: On Time Performance. That’s all I can think of.

Mom’s Guess: On the period. Like, you might say, “I’m OTP right now.”