When you neglect kindness to others, sometimes they die.

I'm sorry its been so long since I blogged last, much too long in my opinion. My apologies, but my last month or so has been a constant state of havoc (Future blogging material? I think so.) therefore, I have a) not had the time and b) there were no creative juices flowing. Plus, I've been sleeping a lot so that pretty much takes up my extra time that could and should be spent writing. I'm sorry for being a selfish cow.

My story for you today goes back about a year ago, when I was going to school on a tropical island. That was kind of an amazing sentence, and makes me hate my life all the more as I experience the dreadful time of mourning others refer to as "winter". I'm sorry I'm in such a pissy mood right now, but seeing as I haven't eaten lunch yet...well that is pretty self explanatory. I've been apologizing a lot already in this post and promise to not be such a downer for the remainder. You're welcome.

So anyways, I was walking through the target parking lot holding my friends new humidifier, when this guy almost hit me with his crappy car and it sent me having flashbacks to the story I am about to tell you. My friend said, "Have you blogged about that one yet?" And I couldn't believe I hadn't! So here it is. I was working weekends at this mom-and-pop Italian restaurant, struggling financially as most all college students do. But I loved working there and did so happily, although my homework may have suffered for it. Actually, that's a lie, the real reason it suffered was because I was going to school ON A TROPICAL ISLAND. People don't actually do school in places like that unless they are idiots, because who wants to write a ten page comparison paper on religion when you could be hiking through the rain forest or basking on a beach with hot guys that only come from tropical islands?! I'll admit, I did much less schlepping around mountains being active and crap, and much more of the latter, but a lot of people enjoy that stuff. Anyone would compared to writing a shitty paper, unless they were an idiot.

I bought this white ancient crown vic from my mechanic, suntanned, surfer, body-of-a-god guy that I was...seeing while I was there. I guess I can't really call him my boyfriend, because he never asked me and, well, he wasn't my boyfriend. But we were going on dates and practically dating. The only screwing that happened between us was when he sold me that crappy car that broke down two weeks later, and he couldn't ever seem to repair after that. Everyone wanted to be my friend for those two weeks; girls because they wanted a ride, and guys because they wanted to borrow it to use for a cop car in their amateur film about skateboarding, that needed a cop car for whatever reason. None of them liked me as much two weeks later when it broke down and I needed a ride to work. They wouldn't give me one. Douches.

One crisp island evening, I walked back to school from work, alone. I had worked the late shift at the restaurant and my so called loser friends that had cars wouldn't come help me out. It was maybe a seven minute drive, but it took anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour depending on the weather, shoes you were wearing, etc. but always took longer on the way back because it was mostly up hill, and those hills were not playing around. Those hills gave birth to the hills from "The Sound of Music",  if that helps you get a feel for how big they were. That's what he said.

I closed out my cash drawer, went to the ladies room to change into clothes more appropriate for the journey I was about to embark on, and saying my goodbyes to co-workers (all hung-over), stepped out into the night. It was a typical evening, desperately warm and humid, frizzing out my curly hair around my face and at the base of my neck and my face perspiring profusely, but there was delightful ocean breeze coming from the west, tugging at my clothes and bringing occasional gentle relief from the aching heat. I didn't feel relieved however, because the anxiety I had been ignoring until then had come back with a vengeance, and standing on the cracked side walk I was faced with the darkness.

So what did I do? I put my head phones in and put on a chipper song by Colbie Caillat to distract me from the fact that I was walking, alone,  through the ghetto of the town...did I mention I was alone and it was really really dark outside?! La La La, happy thoughts.

I was skipping along, trying to focus on my music about rainbows and ponies, all the while keeping to the most populated and well lit streets. I was in the middle of "Fallin' for You", when I stopped at a cross walk to check that it was safe to go. There was a little white car there, stopped because there was a huge onslaught of traffic coming and the car couldn't turn yet. With it obviously being my turn to go, I started to cross. About halfway through the cross walk, I shifted my backpack to the other shoulder and turned the volume up on my ipod. La La La, happy thoughts. With the other side within my reach, my thoughts came to a screeching halt as the little white innocent car bumped me! Dazed and afraid and having absolutely no idea what was happening, I turned to face the car (that was still accelerating toward me) and screamed, "Stop! Stoppppp!!!!!!" with both of my hands on the front of the grimy hood of the car, trying with all my might to stop the vehicle that was slowly but surely pushing me into the oncoming traffic. Just as I was about to meet the traffic the car stopped, with me partially on top of it, breathing fast and close to dying prematurely of a heart attack. I looked up to face my attacker for the first time. Middle aged, snaggle toothed, and (not to fuel stereotypes, it's just the truth in this particular situation) Asian. And laughing hysterically. BASTARD!!!!!! I was even more shocked at the site of the man laughing then the fact that two seconds earlier I had been hit by a car. My paralysis suddenly vanished and half jumping, half falling off the car full of crazy, I bolted down out of the street and onto the sidewalk, still being affronted by the sound of flowers being thrown up in my ears. 

I took a brief break from running to look back (I hadn't gotten very far), and the little white car was still idling there, a small dark form rocking back and forth from laughter. I started running again, at the speed of light. La La La, happy thoughts, happ-oh eff it! Not happy thoughts, Not happy thoughts!!! I'm going to die! 

When the dog bites, when the bee stings. What about when the frickin car hits you in the frickin middle of nowhere and your frickin going to die at the hands of a baneful Asian?! What do you have to say to that Julie Andrews?! Simply remember my favorite things? How predictable of you. 

I ran for what felt like an eternity, and when I couldn't run anymore because I was grossly out of shape, I walked brusquely, panting and looking around accusingly. The long dark walk home was terrifying, with shady miscreants milling about the streets in the darkest corners just to further provoke my fear and impending doom. I made it home alright, although I was in a terrible mental state. The next day, although still stirred up, I kept the story to myself humbly and tried to go about my day. That is, until I saw a little white car parked on campus and the perpetrator tried to stab me!

Gotcha suckers! There was no more grief after the first incident thankfully. And I didn't keep the story to myself the next day; you'd better believe I gave my most theatrical retelling of the story to everyone, but specifically those that refused me a ride home and left me to my fate. They felt horrible and promised if I ever needed a ride again to let them know. They weren't nearly as repentant as I wanted, but it had the effect I was looking for. My title about dieing may have been a tad bit strong, but the moral behind the story is this: don't be a bunch of skanks and refuse others in times of need. Instead, lend a helping hand when you're able. And also, don't walk alone at night without some mace and reflectors on your clothes. Cheers to you all!

Lara, you got nothin' on me.

I despise winter. I would be totally okay with it just being fall and skipping winter all together, aside from maybe a light snow on Christmas day. Snow storms always wreck the one event on my social calendar that I am the most looking forward to, then the snow turns to slush and wrecks my cheap flats and the cold wind blows right through my thirty dollar Old Navy sale coat.

But today is one of nostalgia. Fall is in the air, and I am transfixed by the beautiful landscape as the leaves change their colors. It reminds me of hot chocolate and bonfires, hoodies, stale candy corns left over from Halloween, and gearing up for those terrible holiday visits with certain extended family. Ah, good times. It's just such a wonderful time of year. Since I am in the mood for reminiscing, I decided to have a throwback post to one of my favorite embarrassing moments of all time. Perhaps its a fav because I was in my horrific preteen/puberty stage and I have since had time to heal.

It all took place on a fall day similar to this one, and of course it wouldn't be a wonderful embarrassing moment without, you guessed it, a boy. Those turds always show up for those times where you literally want to smother yourself with a throw pillow and everyone else because it's just too terrible to bear and yet, you still have to. My friend suggested this idea when we were kids that guys should just live in their own society underground, completely set apart from females until the disgusting middle school metamorphosis has run its course. It's both freaky and brilliant.

His name is Payton Radley, the guy that literally every girl and their mom had a crush on, or in my case? An obsession. He had perfect wavy hair, a muscular, tall build, pearly whites and a smile that slayed everyone. I say all of that in the past tense because although he is cute-ish presently, the years haven't exactly done him well; that was when he was in his prime. He has uncanny athletic ability and he was very focused on baseball and nothing else. Girls, especially dumb ones like I wasss...well whatever. We will go with was, were definitely not on his radar.

Ethel Larkin, poop brown hair, cut all the same length, braces, boy/lesbian-esque style, and boobs I had no idea how to properly holster so they were just kind of...there. My athletic ability is limited, but I try to make the most out of it. The part that kills me every time is the pre-game trash talk that I fail to live up to when its time to play the actual game. I get to flirting, which means I tell them I'm going to beat their asses in the game cause I'm awesome, blah blah blah. But like in a hot Lara Croft kind of way, trying to act impressive and tough, and the guys just eat that shit up! The real issue is when you go to play and you can't actually live up to the high expectations you set about yourself for everyone else by being a cocky liar face and making yourself out to be a kick-ass bitch like Lara. But in the end you just look like a bitch. That lives in her own fantasy world where she is good at athletic things. That she sucks at in reality here on earth. Dumb.

Okay, but I'm getting ahead of myself! So I'm at this park with a large co-ed group of awkward middle school kids, which let's be real, was the most exciting thing EVER because a) it meant being free of my parents for a little while, and b) I was ready to step up my game and I was sure I would win Payton's heart. So as it usually goes in sixth grade, the girls went off to the swings to be away from the boys and the boys started picking players for their baseball game. I boldly announced that I was playing, which raised a few eyebrows but no one contested.  I was jovial as I ran to join up with my teammates that were gearing up to bat first. P.S. I don't actually know anything about baseball, so for those of you that may be reading this and are awesome and know all of the correct terrminology, etc. please do not be offended by my crude retelling of the game details. Just a heads up.

Payton was pitching, using those sinewy arms to pitch lightning, Zeus-like..uh, throws at those that were batting. My turn came, and I stepped up to the plate. I was for sure exuding a vibe that said "I am a pro". Payton gave me a quick little side smile before straightening up and getting ready to let the ball loose on me. Man that sounded dirty. You know what I meant. I felt a little thrill as I hit the ball and it actually went where it was supposed to go, which must have been a result of my positive thinking or a pure miracle since I have no idea how to use a bat.

Did I previously mention that I was wearing a dress? Nope, don't think I did. Why? WHY? That's what you're thinking. I know I said my style was butch then so I don't really have much of an explanation for my wardrobe choice that day. I'm sure it was ugly, and I probably was trying to be like a hot tomboy kind of person or something. So I hit the ball and it came crashing down somewhere further out in the field. I took my time running to first, soaking in the pure joy of success. A little premature. As I made my way to second base, I felt my stomach sink. Plunk. I totally just tripped over my feet, and landed flat on the ground, right in front of second base. Like two inches from there actually. But I was so horrified I couldn't even move! Everyone got kind of quiet, aside from the few punks snickering to the person next to them. No. NO. Oh my god, no. My dress was over my head, my bum in my skeevy underwear just out for the world to see. That is worse than wearing bad panties and having a car accident and everyone in the ambulance having to see your wretched drawers. Side note: that is something I literally think of before I put on my underwear almost every morning. Same with shaving my legs.

So there I am in all my glory, bum out for all to see, laying there paralyzed with shame and horror. Payton was just staring at me, with an amused look on his face. Is he laughing? He took his good old time walking towards me with the ball in his hand, drawing out the humiliation and he completely enjoyed it, I could tell. He slowly bent over me, staring at the ground almost as if he couldn't look at me. But then he got right in my face and smiled, and then tagged me with the ball and sauntered off back to the pitchers mound. He didn't even help me up that douche! I still loved him, but come on. He could have helped me out. Anyways, I picked myself up and pulled the skirt of my dress down to its rightful place and made my way back to my team. After a minute or so, I called, as if in response to the girls nearby, "What Lou Ann? Okay, I'm coming!" At least I left with my dignity still in tact.

I am lubberly like it's my job.

The past few weeks haven't really strayed from the norm. As usual I am living my life ungracefully but this week and last have been peppered more with constant, small awkward occurrences than the routine, colossal am I being punked?! moments that are commonplace; this story is about one of the more memorable moments from last week. Lubberly means a big clumsy fellow, in case you were wondering to yourself, "What the hell is lubberly?" Yeah, that's what it means. It also means clumsy seaman which...doesn't really work but whatever.

So this week I went on a road trip with one of my best friends Shea and ironically her boyfriend, Jay, to Virginia. Jay thinks he is a rapper (he's not), which made for a long a trip in the car with him "rapping" to Usher and listening to instrumental tracks throwing down his theme song he wrote about himself. After the two day drive we finally arrived in Virginia, and the relaxing week we had planned was long overdue. Lynchburg, Virginia is a small college town. All three of us have family and friends that attend one of the University's there so we planned to make a good time out of it with our college friends (none of us are in college right now, so we essentially wanted to live vicariously through our friends. That's normal, right?).

So one night the three of us, along with Shea's sisters that live in the area and some of Jay's friends, all went out to see a film at the dollar movie theater. Earlier that day, Shea jokingly told Jay he should hook me up with one of his hot friends since I'm newly single. I agreed but I was being completely serious; I was excited about the possibility of some new guy to at least flirt with and have fun. We got to the theater and were just waiting on Jay's friends before going in and getting our seats. Well, the turn out was disappointing. Two guys came, and one was very cute but of course, had a girlfriend! The good ones always do.

I was socializing with a few of the girls before going in and then abruptly Jay said, a little too loudly, "Jake, Brandon, I didn't introduce you! Ethel! Come over here! Guys, this is Ethel." Shoot me. I turned around, flummoxed, heat seeping into my cheeks. What is he doing?! Horrified I looked around at everyone's faces; yeah, they all seemed pretty embarrassed too, and happy that it was not them. I made my way towards the two guys, trying to keep eye contact and be nonchalant. I don't know why, considering they had no problem completely ignoring my existence. As I crossed the threshold toward their side of the room, I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach, before the reason for it even registered. Delilah, Shea's little sister pushed me right into Jake, the very un-single good looking, crush-worthy man that was currently pretending I wasn't there. Why she pushed me is still a mystery, but I don't even allow myself to ask questions like that anymore. Because small questions like that all add up to one enormous question which is, why is my life the way that it is?! It's better to just accept that I am a magnet for such things and move on.

Luckily I recovered my balance right before I could make matters worse and take everyone out in my path. Blushing and shaky I tried to laugh it off and extended my hand in greeting to Jake, trying to be a proper adult. Both guys reluctantly shook my hand, muttering their acknowledgment of me in hushed tones while avoiding my gaze. I slunk back to my corner of the room and hid behind Shea. At that moment I was ready for the trip to be over already.

There is a good reason for the phrase, "Don't kiss and tell."

Whirlwind romance. The word "whirlwind" is actually quite romantic sounding in itself. When you hear it you think passion, love at first sight, destiny. That time is no obstacle for love.

My whirlwind romance went something like this: a friendship that led to a few pseudo-dates, a date, and then a committed relationship all in about a months time. To me I thought of it as all of the words listed above and more. He confessed his deep poetic feelings to me like, "When I am married someday I want a wife that, when she walks into the room, my breath is taken away and I am overwhelmed, wondering how I ever got so blessed with someone I am so unworthy of. I feel like I have that with you. I think we are going to last." Did I feel pure ecstasy as those beautiful words rolled gently off his tongue? You better believe it. He swept me off my feet before I even knew he was coming, and then continued to run off with me at a breakneck speed like the devil himself was chasing us down. Then after exactly two weeks, he broke up with me. Now the word whirlwind simply means stupidity in my book, and I have a bad case of whiplash.

A few days after Jeremy asked me to be his girlfriend we had our first kiss, a.k.a. makeout session. And it was perfect. The whole night I couldn't sleep because I was completely caught up in the "whirlwind" that I had constantly been a part of since the second I met him. Every day I was falling harder and harder for him and after that night, I was completely enraptured by him and his charm. Sadly, the next day he left to go visit his family a few states away, so my obsession had to be fed by mere text and phone conversations. When he finally got back in town I was so excited to see him! And kiss him of course. He was coming over to watch a movie with me so before hand I groomed myself to perfection, or at least as close as I could get to it. I mouth washed four times after brushing my teeth, flossed, perfumed, and the list goes on. We watched our movie and had a good time. No kiss yet. He got ready to go and still no kiss. So I decided I was going to take things into my own hands. I am not an experienced kisser whatsoever, so initiating was not something I was comfortable with. But he aggravated me into making a move. I walked him out to his car while we held hands and talked. It was such a beautiful night; starry and cool and it was drizzling a little bit but just enough to feel refreshing and make noise so there wasn't awkward silence. He hugged me and when he let go I could tell he still wasn't going to kiss me!

Needless to say I was seriously annoyed at that point. I decided I was just going to give him a peck on the lips and that was it. Just the cutesy kind of kiss, not breathy and passionate. I went for it, and as I was pulling away he started doing things with his mouth and tongue. That should be good news right? Well because I was unprepared for his response, I pulled back. I totally could have recovered from that and smiled and just gone back at it, but there was one small problem. It was the sound that accompanied the kiss that I initiated, and it came from my body. You've heard people talk about out of body experiences? This was definitely one of those. The noise I emitted (it was not voluntary), was an eardrum-breaking "muah!" sound that I had never made before in my life. It's like what grandma's do when they're creepy and gross and its in a movie. Only I had just done that to my new, hot boyfriend. His face was incredulous and I could feel the heat instantly rush to my cheeks. In retrospect the best thing for both of us probably would have been if we had laughed it off and said goodbye and pretended like it never happened so that hopefully the next day, his feelings of repulsion would have subsided. But the expression of horror on my face was firmly planted there and before I knew what had happened I ran away from him into the safety of my home. Literally, I just broke away from him and booked it into my house without a word but "Bye!". That is not normal behavior, and most of you are probably thinking to yourselves, "No wonder he broke up with her after two seconds". You're supposed to be on my side. Anyways, that evening blew up in my face and even though he was kind about it that night when I called him to apologize, he never kissed me again while we were together.

Jeremy was technically my first boyfriend. Even though this is an anonymous blog that I do not advertise, I know there are people out there that read this. Yes, you. And despite the fact you will never meet me (at least not knowingly), at times it is difficult to be so transparent about the things that I do every day that are so embarrassing. Just like when I tried being vulnerable with Jeremy, it was hard! Being open in that way is not something that any of us come by naturally in my opinion. But the things that make us vulnerable are a huge part of who we are! Jeremy never really saw this side of me when we were dating: the awkward fumbling side of me and the sense of humor that I acquired to be able to deal with it. But looking back on our whirlwind romance I realize that there is a lot of light to be shed on that short moment we shared. Awkward, embarrassing acts such as these are a big part of what makes me, me. And the fact that he couldn't handle that and I wasn't comfortable enough with him to be that version of myself, the real version, must mean that it wasn't destiny after all.

I'm glad I was able to share my story with you. Goodnight to all. Muah!

Smurfs and Feelin' Blue.

Wow, it has been an eternity since an awkward moment has been posted! I have had a serious case of writers block these past months and not because they have been uneventful. Let me tell you, I am about to completely unload my best ones that have been happening while I was away. My awkward curse has an overactive imagination and has really been on a role as of late. I'll start off with my most recent event in this post.

I just began a new venture called, 'being a nanny'. The family seems wonderful thus far and it really has been an easy transition for the most part.  Because I am new I want to make a good impression. I wear clothes that are obviously not the most ideal for chasing kids around but I still haven't found the balance between being a professional, and dressing for a job which a lot of the time comes with some wear and tear. I also have struggled with not cussing by accident, etc. I'm sure there will be a time when that slips and then I will have a really juicy story to tell you.

 Anyways, I want to impress, you get the idea. I decided it was time to wax the old mustache (quit judging me), so I pulled out my handy waxing kit and went to work. I've only done it one other time, so I had no idea that the seemingly innocent looking tub of wax was actually past the point of boiling and had turned to straight lava. Result: a majorly burned mustache.

My medical knowledge is limited, but I figured aloe was probably the best way to treat it. I lathered it on all through out the day and it seemed like it was helping. I made sure to reapply before bed and then hit the hay hoping for better things to come in the morning.

Bloody hell. As I gazed at the face that I only recently came to terms with, my stomach turned. I stared disbelievingly at the site of what my mustache had since morphed into. My face was marred by...a...a...

Blue mustache. Blue?! Blue. Bblluueee. Not like baby blue, but a bright, smurf-y kind of blue. The aloe I used to "treat" it had stained it that not so neutral hue. The burn had really come into its own at that point; it was huge and cracked and very very visible. Did I mention it was blue? Sadly, when you're an adult life must go on even when you're facing certain humiliation, i.e. death. Well maybe not death, but it definitely felt like it! I went about my day, first getting stared at by every member of the family I work for. Luckily they are very polite and didn't bother me with stupid questions about it. I went to the gym and tried to avoid eye contact with everyone there. Soon after I just up and left because I couldn't handle the stares. I mean there really is no normal reason for anyone to ever have a blue mustache. I made matters worse and accentuated it by wearing a bright blue shirt to match. Looking back I think that may have been a mistake.

This new diet is...effecting me.

I'm still on the island and loving the island lifestyle. You might think me to be crazy, but I've been staying in a tent. Yes, a tent. But I love it, and it's totally an acceptable way of living here.

The diet change has been pretty drastic. Now all I ever get to eat here is whole wheat crap, fruits and veggies. Healthy stuff. Which is good; I needed a diet change anyway. And I am constantly aware as I don my swimsuit every day. 

Anyways, when I first got here I decided to go into town with some friends to a coffee shop and use the internet. It was so great to be back in touch with the rest of the world. I went over to a different coffee shop in the next shopping center over, and told my friends to call me when they were ready to go. A few hours later I had responded to all my emails, checked facebook, finished some homework and was ready to go, so I walked back over to starbucks. 

And they were gone. I called, and nobody answered. So it was pitch dark and that meant I got to make the hour long walk home, in the dark, without a flashlight and all of my most expensive belongings on me. It was hell. 

So when I was finally done, all I wanted to do was take a shower. I was grabbing my stuff for the shower house and throwing things around (I was in a very pissy mood) when all of the sudden, it hit. I tried not to panic; the porta-jon was only a little ways away, I could make it. But the creeping sense of urgency in my bowels was not convincing. I  dropped all of my shower stuff and began walking brisquely, legs together trying to talk myself through it. "Everything will be ok. You can totally make it." Then I started running. I swung open the door and just as I went to drop my pants, well...you can probably figure out the rest. Oh Joy.  

Palm Trees, Blue Skies.

Sorry I haven't been on in a while. I've definitely missed it, but with my new class schedule and everything life has been hectic. Have you missed my awkward life? I've missed telling you about it.

So you know how I said I was going to a tropical island? Well I went, and its amazing. In fact, I think I'm going to stay around for a while. But as always there is an awkward story to relate to you.  

When I first arrived on the island, I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty. Especially when coming from the currently arctic mainland, it was such a breath of fresh air. Everyone here is so laid back its fantastic.

One of my friends that lives here on the island came to pick me up from the airport, and I hadn't seen him in forever. So of course I wanted to look good, act cool, and just make a good impression all around. He had all kinds of great plans for us to explore the island and eat some great food. But first, we needed to stop by his bungalow and pick up a few things. 

We pulled up and parked up against some bushes that were blocking the passenger door. So naturally I had to crawl over the seat and the stick to get out while he's watching me. 

Fail. I tried to crawl over the stick, all the while laughing awkwardly and taking forever. I got my shirt caught on the stick and my hand slipped off of whatever I was holding. So I fell half way out of the car, with my shirt stuck, my boobs falling out of my shirt, my hair in my face, stuck to my chapstick, and he was attempting all the while to help me by grabbing me in awkward places. He managed to catch me right before my head hit the ground. After a few more attempts to get out I finally made it, face flushed and hair unkempt. I wanted to make a good impression, but instead I fell all over him.