So help me

Nobody tells you there's no time to pee,
The kids all yell, "It's all about me!"
Oh, little friends, can't you see?
There's no chance for me to become a celebrity.
I'm just somebody, who's a little bit too cranky,
In the mornings I can guarantee,
you better give me some super strong coffee.
And remind me never to name my kids Mikey, Henry, Ravi, or Rosalee.
I will probably have to move to Tennesee.
Before I turn thirty-three,
I just want to stop being the classroom referee!
And for heaven's sake, give me the master-key!
Don't make me earn that third degree.
Let's get real, I work for free,
but not according to the powers that be!
I've been eating ramen and drinking sweet tea,
you know, it only costs a dollar fifty-three!
They say "go to this meeting, write 15 IEP's"
And finally I decree,
"I just want to be a retiree and move to Waikiki!"

Skinny genes and the curse of the narrow foot

My entire life I have been skinny and blessed with narrow feet, abnormally small left nostril, and bad skin. Not awkward at all.  But eh, you do the best you can with what you've got, right? I attribute this physical awkwardness, primarily to my parental units (thanks, by the way). Now don’t get me wrong, I do not suffer from self- confidence issues, perhaps breathing issues and lack of cute shoes, but that’s kind of expected given the circumstances, don’t you think?

And just because I am skinny, this does not mean that I am in any way, shape or form, in shape. Common misconception. Skinny girls can also have cellulite (I’m sure I just boosted your confidence by about 10- you’re welcome). True story. I’m not saying this is in fact me, rather, something I read…somewhere. Sure, sounds good. And please, don't roll your eyes when I make comments about myself wanting to get in shape. I'm allowed to make comments about myself. You, rather, are not allowed to say a word. It's just poor taste. And it's just like when you don't talk nicely about your family. You're allowed to do that. Your significant other, not so much. 

What’s really strange to me is when people comment about my weight. I’ve had people tell me “Oh you’re so skinny”, Really? I wasn't aware…How am I supposed to react to that? “Umm…thanks…sorry you’re not…?” Awkward turtle. Times 2…that's like a billion awkward turtles or something, eh, you know how much I hate math, just go with it. 

My point is this:  Don’t judge. And, surely don't comment. Thus, the whole purpose of this blog. You have no idea what others have to deal with. My dealings just happen to be with laser skin resurfacing, acne medication, an overpriced specialty foot store, and the fact that I will never have proper air flow in my left nostril. However, what I lack in physical equilibrium, I surely make up for in witty dialogue. After all, I've gotta have something on my side, right?

Puppy dog tails and unending wails

There is something to be said for coming home after a long day of work, pouring yourself a beverage, taking control of the tv, and tuning out most of what has happened that day. I for one am a fan.  I enjoy the fact that the only thing that I have to take care of has four legs, doesn’t talk back, and can be put in her “house” or shipped off to the doggie “hotel” when a vacation of doggie duties is needed.  No calling relatives or friends in a panic asking if they would be willing to watch your little petre dish of germs.  Nope, all you get from my “kid” are some doggie kisses, snuggles, and the peace of mind that you won’t catch any communicable diseases.

Don’t get me wrong, I love kids. I love my nieces and nephews to pieces. BUT, I also enjoy the sound of silence; rather meaning, “single” person silence. Parent silence is something TOTALLY different. Parent silence means that your kids are plotting something BAAAAD, most likely against you, your other child, or the house. Pick your poison, neither will be good. Like marking X’s along all of the walls of your grandparent’s house telling them where the fly has landed, which in turn, causes your dad to have to repaint the walls in said house, riding your boogie board down the stairs into a pile of dirty laundry, or even worse; don’t ever assume that your children play nicely together or else you get one kid with a broken arm, and the other kid crying profusely, because as punishment, you have taken away their m&m privileges and have sent them to their room for what feels like the end of eternity.  And that’s not even the half of it and already I’m exhausted.

To all those parents who are half awake, have barely showered this week, and still manage to hold down a full time job, you are a better person than I. So for now, I will assume my position on the couch, with beverage and tv control in hand, and enjoy the sound of worry free silence.

The perks of being...divorced

Divorce gets a bad rap, I think. Through my own personal experiences, divorce is fantastic. When I was like 6 or 7, my parents got divorced. And I have to be honest; I think I turned out pretty damn good.  After all, I did get two Christmas’s and birthday's AND I finally got to eat that sugary cereal that the other parent wouldn't allow me to enjoy.  As I got older, meaning an “adult”, this really worked to my advantage. Especially since the divorced parental units lived about ten minutes away from each other and I lived right smack dab in the middle of them both. Perfect. So this is how my plan would play out. If ever I was out of, let’s say toilet paper and paper towels, I could run to one parents house for toilet paper, and then conveniently show up at the other’s house around dinner time, so not only did I score paper towels and toilet paper, but also a free meal. Genius.  This plan was carried out for the majority of my twenties.

Now, I’m not saying that the whole divorce experience was always rainbows and butterflies, because it definitely wasn't, but the perks far outweighed the negatives.  I do have to give these parental units SOME credit, though. I do adapt to change really well and I get an A+ for going with the flow.

Sometimes, you don’t always get a choice what happens in your life.  Sometimes, you have to let others call the shots for a while.  Sometimes, it sucks. Or sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get to avoid going to the grocery store during tourist season.  J

Math = purple dinosuars and panda bears?

Exactly. It doesn't make sense. I told myself when I started this whole blog thing, that I would be honest. Honest enough to admit my faults, anxieties (there are many), and I will now openly admit my lack of math skills. I should never, ever, EVER be allowed to do anything involving numbers. It's just not my thing. Try as I did, and try as I might, to my parent’s dismay, it was just never meant to be. Math and I will never be friends. 

I can’t help it. It just never, ever made sense. The hours of painful math tutoring in middle school, the painful hours spent at summer school trying to decipher geometry, and don’t even get me started on Algebra.  Why would you ever incorporate the alphabet into a math problem? I just don’t get it. And don’t try to seek me out to turn me into an after school tv special success story and try to explain this great mystery to me, I mean, you are aware of the title of this blog?  It’s not going to work. You can consult any previous math teacher of mine. Believe me, they tried.

So, my point is this: Find what out you are good at, and stick to it. I’m good at languages. Not so good at calculating how much my tacos and burritos cost + tax and tip. J

Why are we friends again?

Or better yet, were we ever really friends? I was reminiscing over this concept the other day with my new found friend, Texas Pete. No, his name is not Pete and he’s not from Texas, but the kid does have quite an affinity for hot sauce, so fittingly name enough. Texas Pete and I were discussing our friends and how certain friendships have just melted away, like sunscreen does on a hot summer’s day. (I’m trying to think warm thoughts here. It’s freaking cold outside and these bones were not cut out for cold weather). Now yes, I do understand how people grow apart and all that touchy feely nonsense, but how does a once great friendship turn to mierda?

Wait, backtrack. No, I kind of don’t understand how people grow apart. I mean, I guess if your friend has turned into a drug addict, crack-whore, or otherwise downright horrible person with no morals, then yes, I can see how one would not want to be associated with that and neither would I.  But what makes a person just ignore the others existence? As I told Texas Pete, I would rather just have my hypothetical friend be honest enough to say, “bugger off” than to leave me hanging, wondering if they are in fact alive and kicking. Should I call the authorities? Are you buried under your weeks’ worth of dirty laundry being attacked by your smelly socks? Did the cat scratch your eyeballs out and now you are blinded for life? (By the way, you should probably buy your cat some kitten mittens for that reason-cue It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia skit).

 Maybe I care too much, maybe not enough. Maybe I just want to know that if I am ever attacked by my dirty laundry and can’t make my way to the phone that you will come beat down my door and tell those smelly socks who’s boss.

In turn, friendships take work like everything else in the world. You may or may not agree with the aforementioned statements, but it really doesn’t matter to me. Why you ask? Because, No Comments Needed. 

The beginning

First, let me preface this blog by saying that no comments are needed. Or didn't you see that already? Yes, sometimes a girl just wants to be heard. She does not want to hear your uninvited input into her very complicated world, unless asked for. I started this blog because I have been thinking of writing for quite a while now and I have come to realize that I have let fear make most of the decisions in my life. Well fear and the input of others opinions. Sometimes, your comments are better left to yourself. It's like when you have that really annoying kid who keeps asking you the same question over and over again. And you try your best to bite your tongue so the explicatives won't come spewing out. Yes, those kinds of comments are the one's I'm talking about.  So here goes, like it or not, No Comments Needed.