Tag: Awkward

I’m Judging Me

Anxiety is super judgy. It makes everyone stare at you, watching your every move.

Except, none of it is real and it’s all in your head. Your brain is the only judgy bitch in the room.

Today was Thanksgiving Lunch at school. Every year I have to force myself to go, and not be a total freak. Once again, Justin was unable to join me today, so I found myself going it alone. Which makes it worse. I can handle public situations like a boss when I have someone to hide behind.

Even though I fought with myself all morning (I don’t have to go. They’ll never notice), I sucked it up and went. Arriving early, just like they suggested. I signed in, grabbed my visitor sticker, paid, and when they called first grade parents, in I went.

I sat in a room full of strangers, proud of the face that I was doing it, and even though I hated it, I was here. The kids started pouring in. And then I realized what a terrible mistake I had made: Xander is in second grade. I was so busy making sure I survived this trauma, that I panicked and jumped the gun on actually going in.

While the first grade parents were locating their children, and the kindergarten parents were saying goodbye to theirs, I snuck out the door with my to-go container full of Thanksgiving Lunch. I hid the evidence of my failure in my car, took a deep breath and tried again.

Did I survive? Yes. Did I actually eat lunch with my kids? Well, no. But I was there.

As I headed out to my car at the end of it all, my brain announced, “good job–I knew you could do it.” Oh shut up, you judgy bitch. Where were you 2 hours ago when I needed the pep talk!?

The South does NOT Run on Dunkin’

This morning, Justin and I began our first ever, kid-free adventure–at least, first ever since having kids.

We stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts, which all you northerners take for granted. Here in…Tennessee (I think?), speed is not the name of the game. In fact, I do believe Constant State of Confusion is the name of the game. My coffee is a large hazelnut raspberry hot coffee, light and sweet. The cashier hits the “less cream and sugar” button. Woah. No. Extra cream, extra sugar. 2 minutes later, from somewhere in the background I hear a woman yell, “the raspberry is sugar free!” What?! No! EXTRA sugar! “But the raspberry flavor is sugar free!” And?! For a decade, I’ve gotten the same exact coffee from Dunkin’! This should not be confusing!

The poor girl in front of us was dressed for a hot summer day, even though it’s freezing and raining. After waiting much longer than we had been, a girl behind the counter said to the shivering waif, “um, do you still want your cappuccino?” Nah girl, she’s just waiting her, freezing, in hopes of never getting her drink. It’s what we’re all hoping for.

Justin pointed out that there were 6 people working, and said, “in New York, it would be two 16 year old girls, and they’d do this all twice as fast.” True.

As we were getting back into our car (after spending 20 minutes of our lives waiting for coffee), a car with NY plates pulled into a space across from us. “Do you think we should warn them??”

Nah–let them be as amused as we just were. Watching in disbelief as 6 humans maintained a high level of confusion over coffee making.

We’re only 4 hours into this adventure! But we have coffee!!!

Adventures in Babysitting Husbands

Justin is home from his yearlong stay in Korea, and after almost a week, he’s finally kicked JetLag in the butt.

The great thing about him being home, is that for the time being, he has no job. I mean, he has a job. He’s just on an extended vacation.

Also, for the sake of this story, I should mention that allergies have been kicking his buns since he has been home.

Today, we adventured to the Zappos outlet. I was looking for 100 new pairs of sneakers, and Justin wandered off to probably do the same. When he came back to show off his find, he was rubbing his left eye. “I can’t see anything out of this eye. Honestly, I don’t even know if my contact is still in there!” I looked, and sure enough, he was contact free. As soon as I announced it was no longer in there, he instantly started looking on himself for it.

“Justin, seriously, what are you going to do if you find it!? Put it back in?!”

We wandered around, looked at more shoes. And then parted ways so I could peruse kid shoes. That’s when it happened.

“Hey! Look what I found!” Justin was looking awfully proud of himself.

“Is it your contact??”

“Yeah yeah!”

“So…now what? Are you just going to put it back in your eye?!”

And this is where he pulled out a bottle of Allergy Eye Drop, filled that sucker up and wiggled it around in the palm of his hand, and then STUCK IT BACK IN HIS EYE!!! “How funny would it be if that wasn’t your contact?”

Honestly, this isn’t the first time in our nearly 14 years that Justin has made less than stellar eye choices. I have assisted in pulling a torn piece of contact out of his eye. He soaked his contacts in hydrogen peroxide solution, in a regular case, and then instantly regretted it when his eyelids fused shut the second that hydrogen peroxide infused contact adhered itself to his eyeball (causing him to cry for 3 days straight).

Later in the afternoon, as we were eating lunch, and I looked into Justin’s eyes. His left pupil was dilated 10 times larger than his right!

“Something is very wrong with your left eye.”

“Yeah. And my left thumb is numb too. I’m probably going to have a stroke. If I do, the combination to the gun safe is–”

“I am not going to shoot you.”

“No no no. Just leave the gun in my hand, and I’ll do the rest.”

This can’t be what other couple discuss during lunch dates.

After a lot of googling (webmd told us it was most likely a cocaine or meth overdose), Justin searched for the side effects of using too many eye drops. Which is probably where I should have started, but I was googling eye dilation and numb thumb (and by this point, he had regained feeling in his thumb). Directly under Side effects of using too many eye drops, it should probably say, “under no circumstances should you put a contact in your eye after finding it on the floor of the Zappos outlet.”

And he says I’m awkward!

Who You Talkin’ To?

My age naivety strikes again. Summer is upon us, which here means a drastic increase in single soldiers at work.

“…He asked me if I was talking to anyone, and I said no.”

You were literally talking to him and he asked if you were talking to anyone. Obviously my “talking to” is different than yours.

“Sam, are you talking to anyone?!”

“Ladies, I am sitting here talking to you right now!”

“NOOOOOOO! Sam! I saw you talking to Justin this morning!”

What is happening right now!? Why–why am I so old!?

I get it, I do. I’m not so old that I’m that confused (yet). And how is one supposed to differentiate between talking to, and “talking to.” And whatever happened to getting a talking to!? What was once a reprimand is now…I don’t even know what. Something that requires me to giggle and use an excessive amount of rapid-fire eyebrow raising.

Also, while we talk of the awkwardness that is me, my doctor is making me go for a mammogram today, which I’m not feeling on so many levels. First and foremost, I can’t wear deodorant?! Do you want to die?! If I see you before 9am, please turn quickly and RUN!!!

The chances of there being cancer in these boobs is pretty darn slim. For one, I breastfed for nearly 5 straight years. I reduce my friends‘ chances of getting breast cancer, simply by allowing them to breathe the same air as me! Maybe. Probably. I don’t know, but I’m surely not getting it.

Also, my nips may or may not be pierced–ok, they may. My Christmas present, because I’m weird. The every day reminder that my boobs are retired from nourishing babies. Forever. But (in my whiniest, complainy voice), I don’t want to take them out. Because if they’re a pain in my boobs to put back in, I’m going to be even whinier!

I’m only a little salty. And no, that’s not just the sweat.

I’m Sam Steeves, and I Speak for the Bees

…except sweat bees. They are the douchebags of the bee community.

An entire bee community, plagued by little guy syndrome.

I’m trying to be productive on my Mostly Day Off. I finally finished mowing my lawn, since my previous attempt was rained out, and prior to that, it had been…ok, so maybe some of it was knee high.

It happens.

In Kentucky.

Where it rained for a week straight. And I work too much. And my whole Coming Off Antidepressants has lead to a lot of couch slothing.

But yeah, it happens.

Besides, Justin isn’t here to judge me, so I can do what I want!

I mean…until housing leaves a note on my door that my back yard is not zoned as a Natural Zone, and I need to get my crappy together and mow that jungle.

I should get a job with the housing office–I could really bring a new voice to their “friendly reminders.”

Ok, so I googled it. And they don’t mean to be assholes.

Sorry sweat bee. I didn’t mean to scare you into stinging me when I squatted down and accidentally trapped you between my thigh and calf. It was an honest mistake.

In their defense, I’m a very sweaty girl. I’d probably hang out on me too, if I was attracted to sweat.

I’m irresistible.

To bees.

I’m irresistible to sweat bees. Get back to pollinating. I won’t squish any of your friends.