Want to look smarter?

If you're anything like me, sometimes you want to appear smarter than you look/sound. A simple solution that doesn't involve actually learning anything new? Fake glasses! 

You still might not be able to partake in intellectual conversations involving art or politics, but at least you can sit there silently with a ponderous expression on your face while looking off into the distance...all the while looking like a genius. People will be like yeah, she gets it. With glasses and the careful mastering of the right facial expression, you'll have everyone fooled.

Do I actually need glasses? Nooo, of course not (I got Lasik when I was 20)! But, do I instantly look 10x smarter in them? Heck yes I do.

In fact, just yesterday when I put my fake glasses on, my dad looked at me quizzically admiringly and said "I've never met anyone quite like you." I think what he meant was "I've never met anyone who had so many untapped, great ideas."

I know, I know, it's a little weird to wear fake glasses around for fun. If anything, it makes my already perfect vision worse because instead of seeing things normally, I'm now seeing them through a piece of cheap glass. It's just that, sometimes I miss wearing glasses.

And let me translate what "sometimes" means in this instance...I'm sometimes too lazy to put on mascara. I hate going out in public without having on at least a little mascara. I'll do it if I have to; I just don't prefer it. More specifically, I just don't operate in that realm of self confidence. So, sometimes, a faster solution than putting on mascara is putting on fake glasses. Not only do I appear more intelligent even though in actuality I'm just being super lazy, but my need for mascara has also been drastically minimized. Win win.

Now I know you're all thinking I'm super smart because this is such an easy idea and why didn't you think of it first, right? I'm telling you...it's the glasses. They make me smarter. If you want to just buy a fake pair of glasses too and never wear mascara again, I won't hold it against you. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, as they say.

It's hard to know what came first...my great glasses/no mascara idea or the glasses themselves. It's kind of like the whole chicken and the egg thing...............except mostly completely different and way less pertinent.  

Word

The day a crackhead really wanted a burger from McDonald's...

...and the subsequent totaling of my my mom's car. 

(fyi people, this happened about 4-5 years ago, so don't go getting all scared...just makes for a good story/cry)

Here are some photos to set the scene. I bet you were already picturing thin, floppy burgers, obesity, sticky children, and greasy french fries in your mind. But, BAM, airbag-singed wrists instead!

Yep, those are pictures of my real wrists. Who would have thought something so simple as a crackhead wanting a burger from McDonald's could turn into such a grizzly scene? Actually, I suppose crackheads wanting a variety of things, namely crack, could easily turn into all types of grizzly scenes. But, I digress.

Anyway, here's what happened. I was driving home from kayaking and having lunch with the "Adventure Club" (yeah yeah, that's a story for another day). I was literally 2 minutes from my apartment. I was doing everything right - I was driving the speed limit, I had my seatbelt on, my open alcohol container was safely concealed (jk), I even had my hands at 10 and 2 o'clock, like they tell you to do in driver's ed. Little did I know, on the other side of the street, an antsy crackhead was extremely pumped to pull into McDonald's and order a burger. So much so that she apparently forgot all the normal rules of driving, like checking for traffic before making a lefthand turn. I guess when you're a crackhead and you're really fired up about eating food devoid of nutritional value, this is the type of shit that happens.

I was traveling down a road that had 3 lanes. I was in the leftmost lane. McDonald's was to my right. The crackhead on the other side of the road made a lefthand turn to try to pull into the McDonald's parking lot and smashed completely into the front of my car, right around the driver's side door/tire area. She wasn't going too fast (luckily) because she was starting from a stopped position, but I was probably going about 35 mph because I didn't see her or expect anyone to be doing anything so stupid. Obviously, it was extremely startling and jarring. It was a huge impact and the airbag went off. It whizzed past my wrists (which like I said, were at 10 and 2 o'clock...turned out to not be the greatest hand positioning in this instance, after all) and hit me under the chin and in my face. I would have sworn my entire nose and face were completely broken, but luckily when I checked myself out in the mirror, only my nose piercing was bleeding. 

When I finally realized what happened and felt fairly sane, I got out of my car (which was now completely turned around and flung into the lane closest to McDonald's). It was a little hard to do because the door was all mangled. The crackhead then gets out of her car too, pretty much walks completely past me, and takes a flipping seat on the front lawn of McDonald's...while lighting up a cigarette and proclaiming "all I wanted was a fucking burger". Geez, so sorry my car was in your way. Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. This crackhead was a girl. I know it's surprising since crackheads are usually guys. 

The only reason I assume she was a crackhead is because...well, there are a few reasons. 1) Her reaction to the accident. Seriously?! 2) She had an extremely long pinkie fingernail and all her other fingernails were short. She certainly didn't look like any guitar player I've ever seen, and honestly, who would play a guitar with their goddamn pinkie anyway. 3) By the looks of her, she clearly couldn't afford the good stuff (pure cocaine).

I responsibly called the cops while she sat there smoking and looking pissed at me. Interesting, right? The cops came and obviously blamed her for everything. Then an ambulance had to come and all that fun stuff. Luckily, they got there just in time because after all my adrenaline wore off, my wrists were starting to burn like crazy. They poured some soothing stuff on them (and it also helped to clean them off because they had all this gray dust on them from the airbags) and gave me a couple ice packs. As I was getting all cleaned up, the crackhead started complaining that her thumb hurt. What a tragedy, I feel so bad for you. 

So, I ended up having to shower with rubber gloves on for the next couple weeks as my wrists healed. And, I kinda had to stay out of the water and sun since it was summertime. Oh, and my mom's car was totaled. I was only using her car temporarily until I was able to buy a new one because literally a couple weeks before, my cabrio had kicked the bucket. And, the only reason I was able to use my mom's car was because she was using my brother's truck...because he had just gotten a DUI and wasn't allowed to drive. Thank you Ben for taking one for the team and thank you Jesus - what a blessing in disguise!

The kicker of the whole thing is that the next time I went to Stop & Shop to buy some groceries, guess who was at the end of the register bagging my groceries? The crackhead! And, guess who had a little bit more than a minimum wage job at the time? Me! Karma bitch!

Oh, aaaaaand, since I documented my healing process so well, the crackhead's insurance company decided to award me $7K for my 'pain and suffering'. And, I got $10K for the totaled car. All in all, well worth the $17K. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. My wrists are completely fine now, and the crackhead and I keep in touch (totally not even true).

The moral of the story is: Most of the time, when you meet a crackhead, something bad will happen. But, there just might be a silver lining.

Here I am with my wrists bandaged up (and apparently a very short shirt)

And here I am ecstatic to have a brand new car after just totaling my mom's

Spread Eagle

Ok, cool, I'll just work while you laze around spread eagle. Dogs. Am I fucking right?

Pay no mind to the fact that it looks like Pippi takes up residence in a crack house. Her bed is all torn up and there's a precarious looking wire dangling over her head - one that looks like it should maybe have shoes hanging over it. Plus, I'm pretty sure that spread eagle pose is quite prevalent in crack houses. I could be wrong because I've only been to a couple crack houses, but I'm merely speculating.

At any rate, you have no need to worry because Pippi really lives the good life over here.

A tune for Tuesday

Mumford & Sons - White Blank Page

(love it)

Oh, Taylor...it was a nice try

On having small hoots

My brother calls me 'hoots'. I wish it was because I had a strong affinity toward owls or "hootin and hollerin" (ummm, what?), but it's mostly just because I have small boobs. Is it weird/inappropriate my brother calls me by a sarcastic nickname referencing my chest size? I'm not sure. You've read what I call my dad, so perhaps I'm not the sanest judge.

I have no idea why I've decided to write a post about my boob-related nickname or my small chest size...I guess my window to pull material from is getting smaller and smaller? Oh well. At least it's more entertaining than what I ate today or if my bowel movements were normal.

Pretty much everyone in my family has a fairly average to large chest size. Some pretty big knockers. Some pretty not so big knockers...but, I definitely take the cake in the 'not so big' department. In middle school, I remember waiting excitedly for my boobs to like, instantly grow overnight into mounds of wonder. As if that would ever happen. I was about 4.7 pounds soaking wet. I bought some 'training' bras even though band-aids or just like, clear nail polish, would have done the trick. No clue what the clear nail polish thing means. Ok, I do kinda know, but if you have no inkling, I'm not gonna explain it.

Anyway, as luck would have it, my boobs pretty much never grew despite my best efforts. I mean, they sort of grew at some point but not by much. It was annoying for a while, but now that I'm almost 30 and pretty secure with how I look, I'm totally cool with it and find it so much easier. After all, boobs are made of fat, and I'm a fairly thin person naturally. It would look pretty weird if I was this thin and then had big boobs. I know some people might think "that would look awesome" (uh yeah, duh)...but, the reality is, there just aren't too many girls that are lucky enough to be really thin and then also have big boobs. Plus, big boobs are a pain. All the cute bras and shirts are made for people with smaller chests. Stuff fits so much easier. And, juniors bras are so much cheaper! Aaaaand, when working out, I don't even need to wear a sports bra. I can pretty much work out with any type of bra on and be absolutely fine. In fact, I could probably flail around completely naked on a treadmill and feel great - except for the whole feeling self conscious because I'm naked, while running, and people are staring at me thing.

Even if I wanted to get breast implants (which I don't), I'm certain the whole thing would go horrifically wrong. My body HATES foreign objects. I tried getting my belly button pierced and my nose pierced twice (for over a year each time), and my body rejected them. It was literally like "nu uh, I don't think so bitch." My nose piercing refused to ever heal even though I was anal about caring for it. And, my belly button slowly pushed the piercing out of my skin over time. Before I finally took it out, the piercing was hanging on by only like 1.4 mm of skin. A very cute look. Therefore, I'm relatively 100% sure that if I ever got breast implants, they would end up strategically exiting their way out through my nipples. Meanwhile, I'd become all diseased and haggard looking and my boobs would turn into a crumpled mess. It'd be horrible.

Have you ever noticed that strippers usually have small boobs? They tend to be thin, so once again, usually their boobs aren't too big. Unless they have fake boobs. I'm not saying hooray, now there's one more reason for me to be a stripper (although the list is pretty much endless), but I am saying that if I ever wanted to be a stripper, at least I'd be in good company. 

Happy Father's Day, Senor Puss!

As you all hopefully know, it's Father's Day! My dad is actually in CT right now, so he opened up his card before he left, and then we exchanged some little text messages today.

So yeah, I know the nickname Senor Puss is a little scary, but if you're a true fan of my blog, you've read all my posts...and one in particular, talks about how I have problems with nicknames. They pop into my head magically from seemingly no where and then never leave. Instead, they evolve into even stranger nicknames over time. My therapist thinks it's cute (jk - I don't have a therapist). 

I believe my dad's nickname started as "Google" because if you ask him a question, even if he doesn't know the answer (which usually doesn't happen - he usually does actually know the answer to everything), he'll dispense some scholarly and knowledgeable made up answer that seems completely feasible...without even thinking about it for 5 seconds. In fact, it's a wee bit worrisome/concerning. 

Then, that nickname morphed into "Goog L. Puss" (no clue why - I guess I felt bad a gross last name and a middle initial weren't fairly represented). 

And then I think it became shortened to just "Senor Puss" when we got to Florida...mostly because our fully furnished house rental also came furnished with a weekly yard worker named Pedro (he is of the ethnic persuasion in case you're oblivious, and our landlord calls him "Ped-row" which is obviously not to be confused with the proper pronunciation of "Paid-row"). 

So, because my dad would sometimes imitate Ped-row (and by "sometimes", I mean pretty much all the time, or at least whenever my mom left the room and I'd politely ask), he got the word Senor added to his name.

There you have it folks. I knew it would be simple to explain.

Once in a while I call him "Dad" because I figure it can't be all that wonderful to basically be nicknamed the male version of Spanish/Mexican vagina...and, if there's any day to call him by his rightful title, it's today! 

My dad has always been extremely hardworking, dedicated to our family, smart, providing, a good teacher, calm, patient, etc. He rarely yelled unless he was very, very mad about something Ben (not me) did/broke. He's done tons of stuff around the house including all the manly things you can think of, many feminine things like gardening, painting, etc...and he's never been the type to just sit down and drink in front of the tv while watching sports, like I've seen so many dads do. 

And, he continues to wash the dishes every night which is something I can recall from even my earliest childhood days. Not to mention, his relationship with my mom is a wonderful and strong model for what every relationship should strive to uphold.

I feel bad now that I didn't write an equally nice Mother's Day post about my mom on Mother's Day. So, mom, if you're reading this, I love you in the same (just different) ways too!

Happy Father's Day Senor Puss! I love you, and thanks for all that you've done and continue to do with a smile on your face!