Sunday, September 30, 2012

Like the Blair Witch Project. But With Lizards.

On Friday, Just Jennifer asked us to blog our quirks and link up with her for "I'm Gettin' Quirky With Just Jennifer." She tweeted me asking if I was going to link up and I was all, "Sorry Jen, I can't. I'm normal. I don't have any quirks." And then we both laughed until our heads fell off.

On Thursday night, I became a victim of my own quirkiness. Actually, I became a victim of an evil reptile, but since most people's reactions to lizards, especially the ones the size of a fingernail, aren't quite as irrational severe, I'm filing this under the quirky category.

And also? The Worst Night of My Life Category. I started out journaling the incident on facebook as a way to cope with my fear, but then I realized I probably sounded like a giant weirdo. And while I usually don't have a problem exposing my bizarreness (have you read this blog), I felt uncomfortable doing it in real time. So I journaled on my Notes app on my phone.

Following is what happened the Night THE LIZARD Attacked.

It's 1:00 a.m. and I just woke the husband up to rescue me from a baby lizard. It crawled inside the iron. I started freaking out and he banished me to the bedroom. It currently sounds like he's throwing the iron through the wall.

1:10 a.m. The lizard will not come out. The husband plugged in the iron to "smoke him out." I told him not to kill THE LIZARD just GET HIM OUT OF MY HOUSE!

The husband reports he's not coming out.

Me: "What if I have to iron tomorrow?!"

More shaking of the iron occurs.

1:35 a.m. I explain to the husband that I cannot live without the iron. I iron ev-ery-thing. Even my sheets. He "doesn't know what to tell me." THE LIZARD is staying put and apparently the husband "cannot stay up all night and watch the iron."

1:40 a.m. There's no way I can sleep with the iron outside my bedroom. THE LIZARD is going to wait until I fall asleep to eat my face off.

The husband decides to take the iron down to the garage.

1:45 a.m. The husband is still gone.

*Gasp* That sneaky reptile has succeeded in separating us. I'm surely going to die now. 

At this point, I was tempted to record myself, with tears running down my face and snot dripping from my nose, apologizing to our families for this terrible turn of events. After all, it was all because of me that the husband and I were "hungry, cold...and hunted." But then I remembered the girl from the Blair Witch Project looked really unattractive with her nostrils flaring uncontrollably and I decided that was NOT how I wanted to be remembered.

1:46 a.m. Seriously. Where is he?

1:47 a.m. I'm starting to sweat.

1:48 a.m. I hear music. Where the hell is it coming? This is real life horror story.

1:50 a.m. I wonder if THE LIZARD will still be hungry after he eats the husband or if he'll come for me.

1:51 a.m. The husband is back! There does not appear to be any signs of trauma. He looks relaxed and he's...eating. The hell? Clearly he is not as concerned about this situation as I am. Honestly, I may never be able to iron again. Those damn lizards really know how to hit below the belt.

The only thing that prevents this from being the worst night ever is that I had bacon for dinner.

Mmmm bacon. 

I should go eat the last piece.

OMG! I bet that's what the husband is eating. As if I haven't been through enough, now my bacon is gone. I bet THE LIZARD put him up to this. 

I dealt with this latest bit of tragic information by watching Project Runway. I forgot all about THE LIZARD until two days later when I HAD to iron. I put on my big girl panties, went down to the garage and grabbed the iron. I kept it at arms length, keeping an eye on it the whole time as I walked up the stairs. 

I was so focused on making sure THE LIZARD did not come out and attack me, I lost my footing and face planted on the stairs. I nearly ripped the skin off the bottom of my foot, got rug burn and a big bruise on my knee. 

Even without being present, THE LIZARD managed to inflict severe trauma, and that's exactly why they are the most evil creatures on the planet.

Some people may call my fear of lizards quirkiness. I call it good sense. 

Time for some comment gems!

I tried to sign up for a gym once.
That's all. 

You don't know judging until you do Zumba in front of toddlers. they're merciless! vile urchins who hold nothing back. nothing!

"yes honey, that is the sound of mommy's thighs chafing...also, you're grounded for like a year."


"mommy has to wear this bra so she doesn't get a black eye, or a concussion when she jumps"

Ingrates. They all owe me,like, 1 million dollars for pain and suffering.



 

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Bringing Sexy Nowhere

The husband and I recently joined a gym. It’s the first time I’ve ever paid cash money to workout. It would have been easier just to throw the husband’s hard-earned dollars directly into the garbage each month, but what can I say? I like a challenge.

Before we could become official douchenuggets, I mean gym members, we had to take a tour of all the super kewl and not at all confusing-looking machines then fill out some paperwork where I agreed not to sue them when I inevitably break my neck from improper machine use.

This gym does not cater to juiceheads, so if you desire to obtain muscles the size of baby elephants go throw yourself off a bridge because you’re probably an asshole.

To help ensure they do not attract the wrong band of merry muscle makers, their free weights only go up to 75 pounds and grunting is absolutely forbidden. Because no one ever grunts when lifting five pounders.  Definitely not *cough* me.

I do hope moaning, groaning, heaving breathing and panting are acceptable because the sounds of my workout routine more closely resemble an obscene phone call than a girl with a cellulite vendetta.

The final part of the application process is to sign a paper that says you agree to, among other things, not judge other gym members.

The hell?  No judging? The promise of criticizing my fellow human beings is one of the top three things that get me out of bed each day. (Bacon and the allure of my couch being the other two.)

Kidding, kidding. I think it’s great that this gym is trying to foster a welcoming, accepting environment. But unless they also possess the power of mind control, a whole lotta judging be going on. But I give them an ‘A’ for effort.

No one was more surprised than I when, just one day after becoming an official card-carrying member of the I-workout-so-feel-better-about-eating-cake-batter-for-dinner-society, I actually went back to the gym for my free t-shirt to workout. The very first thing I did after hopping on the bike was start judging. Myself.

Faster, fatty!

Look at that lady. She’s older than your grandmother. If this were a race she would’ve smoked your ass.
 

Decreasing the resistance already? It’s been thirty seconds.
 

Need water? You’re pathetic.

I thought getting in shape was supposed to make you feel better about yourself, but my self-esteem is shot.

I didn’t start judging everyone else until I got on the elliptical. You see, I’m what you might call a sweater. No, not an article of clothing you wear when it’s cold outside, but a sweat-er. As in one who sweats. A lot. Normally, when I’m running through the dangerous streets of my ‘hood, I wear a headband to keep the salty secretions from running down my face. But when I went to the gym I was all, it’s inside, it’s air conditioned, I don’t need it! I also brought a towel with me but decided to leave it in the car because it’s inside, it’s air conditioned, I don’t need it!

Stupid, stupid fool.

After twenty minutes on the bike and five minutes on the elliptical, I looked like I had just gotten out of the pool.

And I don’t mean this:


Kinda like this, but with more sweat and in-general disgusting-ness:

I attempted to wipe the sweat from my face, the greatest act of futility ever, and began looking around the gym. That’s when I realized no one else was sweating. Let the judging of others begin! The two women next to me looked the like they were sipping mai tais on the beach while being fanned by elephant-muscled men in banana hammocks.

The beauty queen on the other side of me rearranged her long locks four different ways before finally settling on loose and flow-y around her shoulders.

Honestly, if you don't sweat get out of the gym. I'm pretty sure that's the fifth commandment of gym etiquette.

By the time I was finished on the elliptical there was a puddle of sweat on the floor below me. True. Story. The gym supplies paper towels and a cleaning solution for patrons to wipe down the machines after use. I, however, used the paper towels to mop up my face. I tried to hide my shame by facing the wall while doing so, but I’m sure people were watching. After all, who wouldn’t want to see the Incredible Girl Who Sweats A Lot?

In case you’re wondering, I did clean my machine after giving myself a sponge bath. I’m not that disgusting, people.

It’s been three days and I haven’t been back. But don’t worry, I’m making cinnamon apple donuts tonight, so all is well.

Monday, September 10, 2012

You Googled What? - The "I Love You, Don't Ever Change" Edition

Well I'm only ten days late on this post. Don't judge me! I was busy doing very important things. Like finding spots to place my fourteen different fall candles.

As usual, this month's edition of You Googled What? did not disappoint. In fact, it just may be my most favorite edition ever.

Fasten your seatbelts and hold onto your butts, it's time for...



figure skater boob falls out
Did this really happen? I'm kinda tempted to google it and find out.

smelly armpit meme
It's flattering you guys think so highly of this blog.

Trophy Fat Ass
It's always nice to show the fat ass in your life some appreciation.

brete fol sh shiz
I was just saying this to the husband the other night. "Brete fol sh shiz!"
(I really hope that's not GerRusJapanavian for "Kill all the puppies!")

How to help a hookere
Is that like a hooker in training?

Who wants anal bleaching?
I think the better question is who DOESN'T want anal bleaching?

If you don't like what i post then you know where the unfriend button is
Can I get a what what!

Stop using so many damn abbreviations
I'll use as many abbreviations as I want, thank you very much. And if you don't like it, please see google search above regarding the unfriend button. 

Naughty friday pic with jen's name on it
I assume they mean my friend Just Jennifer. She's always doing naughty things. *wink*
 
Ice cream for my mouth adventure time

Eating ice cream is, like, the most favorite adventure time for my mouth. Unless it's eating bacon. 

I hate when i'm studying and a velociraptor throws bananas at me
Honestly. Is there anything more distracting?
 
How to handle a sister that thinks you stink
Throw her down the stairs! Or, you know, TAKE A SHOWER. 

Hey girl did u know my boobs will go where ever I want them to go

Well, good for you. Thanks for making the rest of us feel inadequate. 

I found my boyfriend googling gross stuff
Of course he was. Men are disgusting. Just ask him to clear the history when he's done. There are some things you just can't un-see.

Going to mcdonald's for a salad is like going to a prostitute for a hug
Truer words have never been spoken.

brown chicken, brown cow. (relax, don't cry, it's only a game!)
The last person who thought brown chicken, brown cow was only a game ended up pregnant.
Brown Chicken

Brown Cow

Can someone please explain it to Penelope?