Don't, Don't, Don't Bite Your Friends!

I am a normal, healthy girl. I have some meat to me, but I am not obese. The holidays are among us and gah knows how many photos will be taken, so I want to lose a few pounds. I have already, but I want to lose just a few more.But, I have come to the realization, in my quest to be skinny, that friends make you fat. I live in a city that is often called boring, but we have lots of things to do. We have an ice rink, roller rink, parks, libraries, malls, yada yada yada. We also have an abundance of restaurants. So, when it's a cold, winters night, and you want to do something, where do you go? One of two places, if you are a member of the Clean Quarters:*a friends house or a restaurant. At our friends house, Eytukan of the Na'vi Tribe, his mother, Ellen Gellar, always makes us smoothies and bakes us cookies, basically feeds us everything in her house. Ellen is like a cool, non-robotic, non-evil, non-remote control version of a Stepford Wife, and I mean that as a compliment. Now, if we go to Carrie's house, we eat there. If we go to Sweet's house, we eat. So, let's head to a restaurant, and eat. They make me fat. 

Tonight, I went to Eytukan's house, and Ellen offered me cookies, brownies, smoothies, Bosco sticks, spinach and cheese filled pazones, and these little balls of chocolate filled with caramel rice crispies in them.  I turned them all down. Then we decide we want to leave. We have no where to venture to, so we go to this cute little Mom-and-Pop restaurant called Frank's. I got tea with rice pilaf that had this marinara sauce that I know was bad for me. I can go all day and be perfectly fine, but if I go out with friends, gah help me. Friends make you fat.

*All the cool kids have this awesome nickname for my group of friends, but remember, due to privacy and crap, this name is changed.

BREAK TIME!

Okay, so I was going to write another Creeper McCreeperson story, but first I thought I'd share something with you.

A good friend of mine, (who never reads this blog, so don't tell 'em...) posted this status four hours ago:

Anastasia Beaverhousin* thinks sprinkles are pretty much the greatest thing ever.


Let me explain why this wrong. Let's first examine what sprinkles are. They're made of sugar, cornstarch, vegetable oil, and food coloring.

Yummy.

Now, sprinkles have been described as life's confetti. I always hated confetti. Confetti gets everywhere. I went to a New Year's Party once, they had confetti. I found some in my toilet, three weeks later. (The party was not at my house, and it was not before I sat down...) Sure they make things look pretty- for half a second! Then they just lay there. Sure, thrown in the air adds a bit of glammor, but if they get wet, they stick to everything and then whatever color they were to turn that color. I don't like seeing purple pee! It ain't right.

Back to sprinkles. They are practically tasteless. They never all get on what you want, ya know? Your counter always has some that spilled on it. So you scoop your hand and slide it into your other, but you feel bad wasting it, so you put it on your cake anyways. Then when someone says their pretty frosting tastes a bit salty, you should just brush it off, and hope that they didn't get any of that cat food residue that was laying on the table before you started frosting.

Ten Ice Cream Toppings That Kick Sprinkles Ass
10. Chocolate Syrup
9. Carmel
8. Whipped Cream
7. Frosting, (Oh yeah, you should try it.)
6. Cherries
5. Fudge
4. Hot Fudge
3. Strawberries
2. A Candy Bar, (of your liking.)
1. Melted Peanut Butter


Sprinkles suck.

*Remember the whole name change thing? Was that Obvious enough?

Creeper McCreeperson: Pastor Dan, (also featuring Lying McWeird Face)

My Intro to Sociology course turned out to be Intro to Social Work. This class has taught me only one thing: I don't want to go into Social Work. It is (klakfkjdflf) interesting. The people I have met in the class are (lfhdsajfkldjf) interesting. The first day of class, we had to interview one member of the class for forty five minutes, after which, we would report what we learned. This creeper girl was desperate to be my partner. We walked to the hall and before we even sat down, she started telling me about how her brother is schizophrenic, how she was raped, I think by multiple people, along with what she told her rapists. She told me about how her dad died and what she did to cope. I feel really bad about all of this, but I sat there in shock. I really didn't know what to do. When it was time to interview me, what did I have to say? My favorite color, food, movie, oh and TV show! I told her about how I probably watch too much Sex and the City, Castle, and Bones. She told me about how she loves Teen Mom. Now I hate that show, but I didn't want to be mean, so I just said, "Oh yeah, I've seen it." After she asked me if I had a "boo?" I assumed that was a boyfriend, and I told her no, that I prefer to just go on a few dates with guys not get into relationships. Please note the key word, prefer. As in, I choose to be single. 

Time to report to the class! Of course she wants to go first. She tells the entire class I'm a sociology major who wants to be on a jury. (What?!?) She tells them that I've never had a boyfriend, (not telling about how I don't want one right now,) and that all I do is watch TV. At this point, I say aloud, that I do go out and that I do have friends. People giggle, then she continues. She tells the class that we both love Teen Mom. This starts some intense discussion about how bad this show and how negative it is for kids to watch it. My teacher began lecturing to me about how I shouldn't watch this show, THAT I DON'T WATCH! When it was time for me to talk about my partner, what could I say? She was raped... Yeah that'd go over well.
Oh first impressions.

Okay, so this date I had not very long ago was with an agoraphob*. I didn't realize it was a date. I was kinda trapped into it. He is from my Social Work class. I call him Pastor Dan, not because his name is Dan, but because he wants to be a pastor, and if you have ever seen Raising Helen you'll probably know my reference. Let me tell you something about Pastor Dan, he has NO game, what-so-ever. He leads me to believe that we will studying, when instead he turns it into some "date." We go to our college cafeteria, (classy,) and he begins to start some kind of banter. At least, I think he thought it was banter. Really he was just calling a loser and a transvestite with a man voice. Flattering in what way? He also told me that I have pretty eyes, but hearing me speak kind of over-shadows them. He said, I talk too much and with a man voice, it makes it even worse. He told me about how not too long ago he couldn't leave his bedroom for months because of his intense fears. He still has some issues with leaving. As y'all know, I'm a psych major. I know how debilitating that can be. I hope someday I can be trained in helping people with this, among many other disorders, but when comes to a first date, gimme a break. He told me about how he's the "Son of God, like Jesus' brother." Direct quote. And he wasn't saying it in a, "We are all brothers and sisters of Jesus," kind of way. He was saying it in a, "I'm the next messiah" kind of way. Yes, an agoraphob who wants to be a pastor and says he's Jesus' brother thinks I'm a transvestite. Hmm. 








*Agoraphob; Short for Agoraphobic: verb; Fear of open spaces, large crowds, being alone in public situations. This often restricts people to a single place, such as a home, and in extreme cases, a single room.

Creeper McCreeperson: Briefcase Boy

Last year, I was in an English class. There was this guy who was in my class. He had that bad boy look. Dark hair, tan skin, tattoos, five o'clock shadow; the whole works. The only thing, (at first at least,) that I thought was weird was that he carried a steel briefcase. He would also pull out mango's and eat them. Yes. A mango. If you have ever seen the show Sex and the City, you will realize how strange this is.* But besides that, he was hot, and he had a personality. He was smart and funny. Seemed great.

One day, he moved his seat from the other side of the room to right next to me. My lucky day. We were reading our papers aloud in a small group for it to be critiqued. He and I started writing notes about how bad it was. We got flirty and blah blah blah, he gave me his number. I took it, thought that I would wait a whole two days to text back, because Allah knows I have better things to do with my life than to text the hot guy in class, or at least, that what I wanted him to think. Basically, after the longest two days of my life, we start texting. Everything was great... So I thought.

After a little bit, I ask, "How old are you?"

His response?

"Guess." Ahh, HELL NO! Red flag! Red flag. If a guy plays this game, he's old. But, my naive heart didn't want to believe it. "No, just tell me." I don't want to play games, I just want a guy to be straight forward. He responses with a question, "Well, how old are you?" I thought I'd give a hint, going back to childhood with, "I asked you first." After way too many back and forth texts he finally admits, he is twenty-seven. Mmmhmm. I was eighteen at the time. I decided I should lie so he would back off more easily. I told him that I was only seventeen. As I waited for a text that was full of shock and embarrassment that he was going after a minor, (even if in reality I wasn't, I was close enough,) he just texted back, "Well, 10 years ain't that big of a difference."

AHH FUCK NO! Nope. Not doing it. Not taking part of that, child molester! I responded with, "Well, this makes me uncomfortable," and he just thought I was stupid. How do I know, because he then tried to convince me that he was lying and he was only 21. Nope. Not falling for that one, buddy. He continued to text me for a little while longer, because he wanted to be "friends." He even invited me to hang out once. What was his idea of hanging out? I quote, "You should come over to my house, we can lay on my soft blanket by the fire, as I read to you from my favorite book and you listen to my favorite radio station by candle light. We can share a nice big bottle of red wine."

I flat out responded, "I don't want to date you. And I'd like you to stop hitting on me." The funny part is in his response: "I wasn't hitting on you. I just thought that'd be fun for two friends! Get over yourself."

BAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! Poor old man, did I hurt your ego? Sorry, why don't you find some old lady at the home who is a little more your speed? Maybe one who's wheelchair has a motor! Ohhh!

Anyways, after all that, the class got awkward. Once, we were both late for class, I was on an important phone call with a friend in the hall and he was just late. He saw me, winked and went into class. My prof, who loved me, asked where I was, and Briefcase Boy answered for me. But, later I found out that he designed women's gowns out of leather. I died laughing. Learned my lesson. Well, not really. But I have yet to trust another person with a briefcase.




*The episode, Hop, Skip, and a Week to be exact. The episode where during jury duty, a man pulls out a mango from his briefcase. Same thing. Just as weird.

Creeper McCreeperson: Intro.

I am an avid user of Facebook. I've been on numerous social network pages, but none seem to compare to the glorious Facebook. It connects me to people who I would otherwise never be connected to. It reconnects me with old friends. A good friend of mine throughout high school was talking to me on Facebook Chat. She was venting to me about the idiocy of her ex-boyfriend. This friend has dated some real numbers, but then again, so have I.

This is an introduction to the weirdest guys I've even gone on a date with/ been creeped on by. This will be a multiple posting blog. Ladies, be prepared. If you have any better stories, feel free to comment, I'd love to hear them. And fella's, take note. Don't ever act like these guys!

Are you ready? Here we go...

Remove Child Labor Laws! (not really...)

I like to think of myself as a Carefree Girl. It has been used to describe me, but only by people who don't know me very well. All of those who really do know me, know that it's really the opposite. I have many cares. More importantly, I have many worries. I mean, if you knew me, I'm an over weight, average looking girl of average intelligence. I'm not saying I'm bad or ugly. I'm just nothing truly special. I'm no model who could rock the catwalk during Paris' Fashion Week nor am I some genius who has the potential to cure the common cold. I'm a girl who has a nice smile, bright eyes, can sometimes photograph well, and who has thousands of questions flowing through her head, with the inspiration to learn all she can about psychology. Nothing show-stopping or award-winning. Just me.

I actually wish that someone would have told me at a young age that I wasn't going to be anything special. That I would be an average American. That if I worked hard, then I can get the things I want, but nothing in life would be handed to me. I think that as a child I excepted that. In fact, as a young child, everything was. I wanted that Barbie Jeep, I got it. I wanted a seventh birthday party with 15 screaming girls, I got it. That dress, that puppy, dance lessons, baseball, whatever. I got it. I didn't have to work for anything. Just flash a smile, and if that didn't work: I cried. Oh, how far that gets a girl.*

But, if I was taught to work hard, then maybe I would be different now. I would be someone who isn't procrastinating that essay. I could be someone who has conquered the world and been more kick ass then Sally Field! I could have been some quad-lingo, world class painter/gymnast who's running out of room for all of her Gold Medals! Who the fuck am I kidding? I could never be a gymnast, I'm too tall and my double D's would get in the way!

So, who wants to make a contract with me? Let's all agree that from an early age we won't instill in our children that they can do or be anything they want. Let's agree that we won't give them toys unless the work for them. And yes, this includes those youngsters! Habits form early! Let's agree that our children will need to have jobs to get rewarded! Just like in the olden days! (Those factory working kids know the value of a dollar!)  Let's get down to business, to defeat, not the Hun, the ignorance!

*Okay, so I still do this, but not often! It still gets you far!

I Should Have A Show On HGTV

I am currently redoing my room. It's hell in four walls. I first had to fill in the holes in my walls, from push pins and such. There were more than 300 holes, (I hung a lot of stuff up.) Whatever. I did it. Then, I had to empty out my room. NBD! (That's "no big deal" in teenage girl talk.) I am getting rid of my dresser and bringing in some old stuff that my aunt has. So, my brother and I were taking it out of my room, and we're about to take it down a single flight of stairs. Then, my arm cramped up and the dresser went sliding down the stairs and broke in half. You know what sucks more than having to take a dresser to the Salvation Army? Trying to throw out a broken fucking dresser! Whatever. I got rid of it.
After this it was time to bring in the vintage furniture. We are starting to bring it up, and Butterfinger Magee drops this one, too!! Luckily we were only a few steps up, but I went stumbling back, hit the wall, the dresser hit me, full on. I had the wind knocked out of me. I couldn't breathe and now it hurts to walk. Finally we get the dresser up and the mirror, although the foot on it is broke and it lopsided.  My paint tipped over on the carpet. My beautiful silver carpet now has a giant dark purple spot, smack in the middle of it. The curtains are currently not wide enough, and look foolish. Basically, my room is a fucking mess.*


*None of this actually happened. I haven't even begun to paint yet. I just have nothing else to blog about.