Saturday, August 27, 2011

A Continuation of Awkward Moments

Awkward: Not knowing someone you live with has people over. People who get to see you belting out a love song into your hairbrush while wearing Care Bear pajamas, having a bedhead mullet, and not sounding like Shania Twain.

Awkward: Someone grazing your breast by accident and everyone trying to act like it never happened, but then the conversation dies out after several minutes of not mentioning the accident and trying to act like you don't have breasts.

Awkward: Knowing you smell bad but you can't do anything about it yet so you try to stay six feet away from everyone while inhaling way too often to check on the status of your stinkyness.

Awkward: Someone asking you to do something right after you put a blob of lotion on your hands.

Awkward: The waiter bringing your food when you're in the middle of a conversation, causing you to forget what you were about to say but the other person is so delighted by their food that they don't care about you and what kind of stupid new car you're getting anymore.

Awkward: This picture:
...Or am I the only one who thinks that guy has issues and ridiculously impressive wrinkles?

Friday, August 26, 2011

5 Lies Girls Tell Guys

1. "You'll never have to worry about hearing me whine."

This is a filthy lie, told because she knows how obnoxious whining is and how much guys hate it. She knows this because of years of being told to please shut the hell up with her incessant impressions of Fran Drescher. Guys won't like her if they know the truth, so she hides it for a while until she manages to trap them in her evil web, also known as a "relationship". Her cool laid-back facade melts away to reveal a red-faced shrieking banshee intent on causing death by irrational complaints.

2. "I won't tell anybody."

...Except her mom, sister, best friend, best friend's family, co-workers, boss, pastor, pastor's family, cousins, doctor, little nieces and nephews, book club, aunts, hair stylist, dentist, pharmacist, brother, brother's basketball team, brother's basketball coach... The point is that girls gossip, especially to each other, and especially about embarrassing secrets.

3. "I don't have very expensive taste."

She just hasn't told you about her addiction to gourmet dining, Internet gambling, designer shoes/clothes/purses, antique furniture, or male strippers yet. There's always something she'll throw down wads of cash for. And if she doesn't have her own wads of cash, watch out.

4. "I'm not a bossy person."

This means that you need to be prepared to be two steps ahead of her, foreseeing things she would want you to do and doing them before she spends all afternoon pouting over your inattentiveness. Because she still wants you to do everything a bossy person would want, she simply doesn't believe she should have to vocalize it. Either way, you're expected to do crap you probably don't want to do, so it doesn't matter how she considers herself because she's lying to your and her own foolish self.

5. "It doesn't bother me that your friends with your ex-girlfriends."

WTF? Yes it does. She fears that you'll lock eyes with her over the beer pong table and realize it really was meant to be after all and then you'll go have a naked party with her and all your other exes and girls you're friends with but secretly in love with in your crazy girlfriend's imagination. If you laugh with your ex-girlfriend, talk to her, talk about her, look at her, pay attention to her in any way, then your girlfriend is thinking double homicide.

Girls are crazy lying manipulative bitches... consider yourself warned.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

5 Lies Guys Tell Girls

Everyone wants to put forth the best possible image of themselves when they first meet someone. Unfortunately, if you don't have that many good attributes, it becomes necessary to lie if you want to seem like a decent person. If your relationship with that person becomes long-term, you're expected to uphold that lie and live it on a day-to-day basis. This is a bitch so you should just tell the truth up front, even if you're a horrible person whose kisses remind your partner of Oscar the Grouch. Here are five of my favorite lies guys tell girls, both in the "getting to know you" phase and in relationships:

1. "Let's put it this way, my number is in a lot of little black books."

Whatever they say they have or haven't done, and who they have or haven't done it with, it will be a lie. He is trying to impress you with his image as a ladies' man or as a man of virtue. 92% of the time he is a mediocre lover with an average amount of experience.

2."I only play video games if I'm really bored."

When you first start talking to a guy, he is likely so enamored by your beauty and phenomenal personality that his game addiction may legitimately back off a bit. Beware, however, the guy who claims he has self-control when it comes to gaming, because he is kidding you and himself if he says you won't join the millions of women pushed to the side to make room for Call of Duty once your "new-love" phase fizzles out and you start to let yourself go.

2. "Football is okay, but I'd rather watch Phantom of the Opera with you."

Few guys are "casually entertained" by sports. If he watches sports at all, no matter how mild-mannered he appears, that means that he screams, curses, pumps his fists, cheers, jumps out of his seat, and paints his chest, so never believe that he simply "sometimes catches the end of the game."

3. "Eh, she's all right."

You should have no problem with a guy who recognizes the attractiveness of Taylor Swift and Amanda Bynes. However, he will say they're "okay" or "not his type" to seem like he doesn't have an eye for other girls. Really all these comments do is make you feel ugly because you're obviously not as good looking as Taylor Swift or Amanda Bynes, otherwise you'd be on TV or a date instead of sitting around reading my blog. You should never fall for these ridiculous claims because they're stupid and besides, if you find these girls more attractive than your boyfriend does, one or both of you is probably gay, and that tends to complicate heterosexual relationships.

4. "I love you."

This happens all the time. He is trying to get you in bed, he is confusing infatuation with love, or you said "I love you" first and he panicked and said it back so you wouldn't break up with him. If he says he loves you, wants to be with you forever, etc., and doesn't then try to get something out of you (or in to you, ha ha ha.) he may actually mean it. Look for "I love you but not really" warning signs: a) he says it only during intimate lovey-dovey time, b) he says it automatically with no emotion ("Loveya." "Luvyou2."), c) he posts glittery teddy bears with hearts for eyes on your Facebook wall.

5."You're perfect just the way you are."

Girls like to trap their boyfriends with questions like, "Do I look better with makeup on, or without?", "Should I keep my hair long or cut it shorter?", and "Would my boobs look better if they were bigger?" There are no satisfactory truthful answers to these questions, so guys are forced to give bullcrap answers like, "your natural beauty eliminates the need for makeup," "the magnificent structure of your cheekbones would suit long or short hair equally wonderfully," and "your breasts are in perfect proportion to your body." None of this means anything because you're probably a pock-marked, flat-chested mullet-haver with no idea how you look thanks to your sweet-hearted liar of a boyfriend.

If you find a guy who doesn't lie about any of these five things, please propose to him.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Awwwwwkwaaaaard... :/

Awkward: Miming to your mom how to use a Shake Weight.

Awkward: Selling a woman her husband's Viagra prescription, only to get accused of selling her the wrong medicine and interrogated about it because she wants to know what it's for and if her husband's keeping secrets from her.

Awkward: Shouting to your friend over loud music, "I JUST STARTED MY PERIOD!" or, "THAT UGLY GUY JUST GRABBED MY BUTT!" or, "CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW SKANKY KATIE LOOKS TONIGHT?!" right when the music stops.

Awkward: Someone walking into a public bathroom as you're using the mirror for picking your teeth, readjusting your pushup bra, or checking out your butt.

Awkward: Texting your friend obscene insults as a joke and not getting a response.

Awkward: Walking with someone you want to hold hands with but you can't tell if they do or not, so you swing your arms way too much in an effort to appear "natural" and "cool."

Awkward: Riding with someone you don't know very well and having nothing to talk about so you try to look preoccupied with your phone and looking out the window.

Awkward: This conversation:
Amanda: Hey! You doin' ok?"
Innocent Victim of Awkward Conversation: "Yeah, how are you?"
Amanda: "Good, how 'bout you?!"
IVOAC: "......."

Awkward: Ordering food with fatass-sounding names like "The Big Bubba Double Bacon Triple Cheese Crispy Chicken Ranch Meltdown Sandwich." Especially if the person you're with gets a salad and water.

Awkward: Slapping your friend's butt in an effort to be hilarious and spontaneous, only to immediately spot her all the way across the room, her behind nowhere near your offending hand.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

A Day In The Life

I live a life full of things that are not interesting to anybody else because stories about reading and filing paperwork don't captivate many audiences for some reason. So I'm going to highlight the events of a typical day in my life anyway because self-ridicule is fun.

6:30 -- I wake up, grease my hair back into a messy ponytail and drive, bleary-eyed, to my old high school to walk the track. Trying my hardest to push McGriddles from my mind, I alternately walk and jog laps while listening to energetic music on my MP3 player. I always skip all the first songs to get to the Savage Garden songs because I'm awesome. Any time some stranger (usually accompanied by a dog) walks by me, I try to distract them from the unshaven legs I have sticking out of my basketball shorts by making small talk about their stupid dog or how early it is. I continue doing laps until I feel that I've done sufficient exercise to not feel guilty the rest of the day.

7:30 -- I go home and read about what everyone from my past is doing on Facebook and consider doing something productive with my life after being painfully reminded of how most of my Facebook friends are married, engaged, have children, pregnant, graduating college, buying houses, and moving away. Shortly afterwards I forget all about it because there's a cartoon marathon on Nickelodeon and I want a bowl of generic store brand Cinnamon-Flavored Toasters.

8:00 -- I fall asleep on the couch despite my desire to watch The Fairly Oddparents all morning. My kitten Lucifer wakes me up at least ten times by attacking various body parts that I twitch unconsciously.

11:00 -- I wake up from my restless nap and read Harry Potter while considering how unhealthily I should eat for lunch. Knowing that I should keep my money-spending and calorie-consuming low, I go to McDonald's and get an Angus bacon cheeseburger combo. I wipe the cheese off my face and do thirteen sit-ups to smother my shame a little bit. My stomach is tricked into thinking it didn't just consume 4,500 calories in one sitting, so I continue on living my life with the guilt successfully shoved to the dark recesses of my mind where it can fester and be the death of me in a few years.

12:00 -- I start getting ready for work reluctantly, going through my routine of anti-aging processes and beautifying treatments. They don't work. I put on my most stylish dress-code-compliant outfit and drag my lazy butt to work.

1:00 -- I paste a sweet smile on my face and exhibit my legendary customer service skills anytime I'm forced to interact with customers. The rest of the time I try really hard to get stuff done but the problem is, I'm very easily confused. And forgetful. And prone to shutting my fingers in filing cabinets. Once I manage to overcome all those challenges and bandage my finger, working gives me a perfect opportunity to contemplate the meanings of my dreams, what I'll eat for dinner, how much money I need to survive this month, and what dramatic events will occur on the next episode of Degrassi.

7:00 -- I take a "lunch break" to rest my feet and eat barbeque Pringles in the break room. This time is usually spent opening my phone every twenty-five seconds in the vain hope that someone has texted me, and thinking about people I could text to pass the time. In between shoving chips in my mouth, I compose ludicrous messages that I never send because I have too much self-respect and cowardice.

7:30 -- It's almost time to close, so I start getting lazy. The store is actually open for an hour and a half after this time, but I've given up on accomplishing all my goals for the day so instead I opt to lean on the counter and gossip with co-workers who feel the same way.

9:00 -- We finally lock the doors and get ready to leave. This is my favorite part of the day.

9:20 -- I head home, wash the three inches of makeup off my face, and change into my shlubbiest lounge clothes. I spend at least twenty minutes plucking my eyebrows because people always say things to me like, "have you ever tweezed your eyebrows?", "I can tell you do your own eyebrows", "you'd be pretty if you didn't have those enormous brows", etc. and for some reason that's made me self-conscious about it. If you don't understand, check out the next-to-last picture in this blog.

9:45 -- I check Facebook again to see what people are up to without having to talk to them. Because I don't really like any of them, I'm just nosy. Pictures of girls in bikinis on beaches remind me that I should do my Shake Weight workout, so I interrupt my mom watching "The Deadliest Catch" to put in my workout video.

10:30 -- I wander into my brother's room and he keeps me there for an hour talking about movies and movie ratings. Then we remember that we have DDR and so we have to break it down, Thiel Posse style. We don't stop until we're unbearably sweaty and "Bad Romance" is permanently stuck in our heads for the next 63 hours.

12:30 -- I have every intention of going to sleep, but my brain won't calm down so I read Harry Potter to relax it a little.

2:00 -- I'm cross-eyed from reading in poor lighting. I remember I have to be at work at 7:30 and curse myself for irresponsibly staying up so late. Closing my eyes determinedly, I lie down and wait for sleep, which doesn't come for two more hours because my brain wants to keep rocking out to Lady Gaga and replaying events of the day, edited with things I should have said if I wasn't such a scaredy-cat. When I fall asleep this late at night/early in the morning, my dreams are always of being late for work, oversleeping, and being fired for missing my shift. I wake up ready to cuss someone out for looking at me wrong. People look at me wrong all day because I didn't have time to wash my hair and I have a permanent scowl on my face.

And then the whole thing repeats perpetually, with slight variances in times due to my work schedule. Having a lame life is awesomely fun!

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Happy birthday to me!

My birthday was awesome. I got to sleep until 1 p.m. with nobody harassing me to wake up and do something productive with my life. Amazing dreams based on Harry Potter flitted through my head, interrupted constantly by text messages of people telling me how spectacular of a person I was for surviving until the 22nd anniversary of the day I was born. I was oustandingly popular for this one day and everyone I'd ever met or added on Facebook expressed hope that I have the best day of my life. I could tell they meant it by their copious use of exclamation points and smiley faces.

My best friend Kacy loves me and wants me to be a fatass alcoholic so she told me she'd be taking me out for dessert and drinks that night. She would not take no for an answer (thank God). Her boyfriend was given strict orders not to call or text her while we were having our drunken girl-time, so he texted me instead to tell me how beautiful she was. Clearly his birthday gift to me was to remind me how alone and un-beautiful I was, and to make me throw up at their stupid love, which I greatly appreciated because it made me skinnier.

We went to Chili's where I ate everything I could think of as long as it was deep-fried in batter. In my defense, I'd worked up a massive appetite while waiting thirty minutes for our table and sitting awkwardly across from some attractive teenagers whom I resented for wearing denim shorts and having boyfriends.

I got a free brownie with ice cream and some shame as everyone at Chili's watched me be 22 and get sang to about it. Kacy's presents to me were a shake weight, vitamins to keep me young forever, lots of flattery, and a Rue 21 coupon so I could buy sexy new clothes that I'll never get an opportunity to wear since the only place I ever go is work. She even told me my butt wasn't flat anymore when I was trying on skinny jeans, so I immediately bought them without even looking at the price tag. Her other presents to me seemed to be backwards compliments and making me bankrupt.

I wasn't quite fat enough to suit Kacy's idea of how my birthday should be, so we went to Applebee's for strawberry daiquiris and bad entertainment in the form of karaoke. I showed the waitress my ID without being asked because I'm afraid of looking old, then later asked her if she thought I looked 21 or not. She had just turned 21 so I cursed her silently for being so young. 22 had hit my ego pretty hard by then.

My manager had given me the entire weekend off because he seemed to think I'd need both Saturday and Sunday to recover from my wild birthday. Thankfully one strawberry daiquiri didn't have that sort of effect (or any sort of effect, really) so after leaving Applebee's we tried to come up with something else we could do for my birthday that wouldn't end in regret and vomit.

There's an arcade a few minutes away from there that has Dance Dance Revolution, which is basically the most fun thing of all time and I felt like embarrassing myself. Not enough to sing karaoke, but just a tiny bit enough to play DDR in a public place while wearing heels. We danced to several songs and discovered we were good at "Toxic" so we did that one about 17 times and got pretty good at it, even on difficult. We were pretty much the coolest people at the entire arcade, which is typically a fairly easy thing to accomplish.

Once we got red-faced and sweaty, we realized there was a photo booth that would sketch your portrait for $2, which is a terrible deal but it was cute and it was my birthday so we did it anyway.

My dad is the world's worst gift-giver, so he came by my house when I wasn't there and left me two books, one I've never heard of and one I didn't care about, and a CD I've never heard of. One year he gave my mom a bathroom scale for Christmas, so nobody in our family holds very high hopes for his presents. He's kind of like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia from the Harry Potter books, who send Harry things like a tissue or a used pair of socks for Christmas.

My mom made Boston Creme Pie and got DDR for the PS3 as a joint gift for me and Thomas, so that we can lose the weight we gain from eating Boston Creme Pie. I intend to play it every day and lose 60 pounds while continuing to eat bacon cheeseburgers twice a day.

Also Kacy is taking me to Carowinds next weekend and it will be way more amazing than last time we went because our stupid lame fun-sucking now-ex-boyfriends won't be there this time to make my special day all about how whiny and loser-ish they are instead of how fantastic I am.

Oh and the entire remainder of August is devoted to making me feel as happy and pretty as possible, so you can all get started on that as soon as you finish reading this.

Friday, August 12, 2011

A letter to my pimples

Dear Acne,

I am 22 years old now. This is no longer considered "on the brink of teenagerdom." It's quite beyond teenagerdom, in fact, and so you need to stop harassing me.

You need to accept that what we had is in the past and move on. You'll find someone new, someone young and naive enough to put up with your abuse, but as for me, I've outgrown you. I used to simply cover everything up so nobody would suspect that there was something between us. Should I really have to stoop that low? No, I shouldn't, and I can see that now in my advanced years. Covering it up just makes everything worse in the long run, which leads to more and more that I have to desperately try to hide.

I have new worries now, like Wrinkles and Fine Lines and Signs Of Aging, and I can't deal with all of you at the same time. You were never good for my self-esteem anyway; you constantly broke my heart and made me feel like the ugliest girl in school. I don't need that kind of unhealthy relationship, so I beg you, leave, and never show your ugly, scarred, red, scaly, flaky, oozing, bumpy, pus-filled face around here again.



Monday, August 8, 2011

We're all a little bizz-nitchy sometimes.

There are certain things that we all say so frequently yet we almost always mean something completely different. At least I do, so I'm going to lump all of you into a stereotype of judgment and bitchiness with me because it makes me feel better about myself.

Typical conversational statement: "Can I help you?"

Translation: "Go away so I can lean on the counter while texting and eating quesadillas."

Typical conversational statement: "Hot enough for ya?"

Translation: "I sort of know you and therefore feel obligated to make some sort of BS conversation when I see you."

Typical conversational statement: "I'm happy for you!"

Translation: "I deserve that way more than you do but I don't want to seem bitter!"

Typical conversational statement: "I just have a quick question."
Translation: "I'm going to keep you on the phone for an hour and a half with tales of my great-niece and the shapes her poo makes."

Typical conversational statement: "Have you lost weight?"

Translation: "You look less like Jabba the Hutt than last time I saw you."

Typical conversational statement: "I'm starving!"

Translation: "I haven't tasted deep-fried breading covering some sort of animal fat in at least twenty minutes!"
Typical conversational statement: "Workin' hard, or hardly workin'?"

 Translation: "You're working and I'm not so I want to rub it casually in your face under the pretense of a 'clever' play on words."

Typical conversational statement: "What have you been up to?"

Translation: "I don't remember who you are, please give me clues so I can fake it."

Typical conversational statement: "This song is so totally about my life."

Translation: "I'm starved for attention and want to make people connect this song with me when they hear it later, and also think that my life is way different from how it actually is."

Typical conversational statement: "You still working at _____?/going to _______?"

Translation: "I remember one random thing about you that separates you from everyone else I know and I will repeatedly ask you about it even if you no longer have any connection to that thing because without it you have no identity to me."

Typical conversational statement: "You look nice today!"

Translation: "What happened to the tentacles growing out of your nose?!"

Monday, August 1, 2011

Pants on Fire

Kacy requested that I post a picture of Charming Adam's best assets so everyone can swoon over him. I cropped his face out of it so that you won't recognize him and be tempted to stalk him if you should meet him in the future.

I believe the flame design is supposed to indicate his smokingness.