Spells of Danger (i.e. my life is NOT exciting enough)

It keeps happening. These gosh darn, let’s get dangerous episodes. It’s as if I’m not clumsy enough as it is. Like my existing medical bill is feeling a little lonely sitting there on my desk…all by itself, asking me to get dangerous. I hear it whispering, “live a little.”

Garbage Disposal:

I turned on my garbage disposal and without thinking…there was my hand, in the sink, moving the leftover scraps of cucumber closer to the “black hole of danger finger death.” Before I realized it, the growls and gurgles of the disposal reminds me that I do, indeed, love my hands and would like to keep them. My face gets flushed and I take a step back, and caress my man hands. Left is telling Right, “it’s okay buddy…it’s not that bad. I’m here for you. Let’s deal with this together…you’re not as manly looking as you think.” My body tingles. It’s the adrenaline.

My Swivel Chair Doubles as a Step Ladder:

Swivel chair. I use it for step ladder purposes and it’s the most dangerous object in my apartment. Swivel chair is like Winona Ryder’s character, Susanna, in Girl Interrupted. Everyone’s (the rest of my furniture) jealous of it, it’s unstable, and can seriously cause harm to others near on or around it. When I realized how rewarding it was to grab my sweatpants from the tippy top of my closet using swivel chair, it was like crack and I was some bum in 1^st and Pike St..

I might make cupcakes tonight so I’m going to need to grab that cupcake to-go tray that’s hidden on the top shelf above my fridge. I’m going to need that chair.

I ran out of clean glasses…I’m going to need those Kerr jars that are hiding above my stove for water. Swivel chair to the rescue!

The swivel chair is probably from 1991 and the wheels fall off of it all the time, especially when applying a ton of weight on linoleum surface. To this day, I’ve fallen from the chair twice. It pains me to admit that I have bruised my forearms, elbows (yes, you can bruise those bad boys), and butt from using the chair in my kitchen. But the idea of being able to balance, whilst grabbing a much needed object on the most unstable piece of (shit) furniture ever…is like…a high. Is my life this boring, really?

Fire Alarm:

I’m sitting in a bar. Writing. Yes, I’m announcing what I’m doing in real time. I’m sitting next to this fire alarm thing and thinking,

If I could just pull that lever. Just a quick tug. Like accidentally. ITWOULDBESOFUN.

But I mean it wouldn’t be that fun. It’d be like…fun in my mind, until I realized what I’d just done and then the firemen, police, and annoyed patrons having to leave their drinks and evacuate from the bar for half an hour, gave me murderous faces.

This is what I have to keep reminding myself about when the urge to grasp the lever overcomes me so badly that I have to think about ugly people to distract myself.

Plants:

This isn’t a danger to me. Just my plant, Atticus. I haven’t fed  him for 2 weeks. I’m an asshole. So I fed him today and he was so excited he had an accident.

Oh Atticus....

My First Post of Year 26

Happy Birthday to me. These are a list of things running through my head tonight on my first post of my 26^th year.

If you could be a public bathroom where would you be located?

As I stand in my bathroom ready to jump into my shower, I notice I haven’t changed much. Or, maybe I have, and there are certain parts of me that haven’t. Like I’m still trying to figure out how to remove rust stains from the bobby-pins I’ve left sitting in my shower for upwards of three weeks. Four total.

Little Girls Make Good Lawyers

Recently, I became a running coach to girls aged 8-11. I, along with three other coaches, am supposed to help them realize how awesome and empowered they are, while teaching them how to pace themselves and be prepared for their big 5k in December.

It’s been a month and I already feel like I’ll never be ready to be a good parent. It doesn’t help that I’m a pushover but all I can say is that these girls can argue and negotiate with the best of them. One minute I’m telling a girl she can’t have another bag of fruit snacks and the next I’m spitting out the wrapper after having opened the bag with my teeth and helping her make piles of four, just because. I mean I used to think my heart wasn’t made for kids but now every time they pretty much say anything, I’m either laughing or on the brink of tears because I feel so moved.

I missed a practice because I was sick a couple of weeks ago and on Wednesday one of them came up to me and said, “Why weren’t you here on Monday coach Joey? We missed you!” I responded that I had some stomach issues and she grabbed my arms and draped herself on me while proclaiming in the most adorably dramatic way, “You poor thing!!” I nearly fainted.

The moral of this story is that I’m pretty sure I’m just useless as a coach and they are the ones teaching me an important lesson in life. Don’t become a mom until you’re ready to see passed the theatrics, ridiculously adorable but manipulative pleas, and the innocent doe eyes that just want you to believe they are not little devils waiting to destroy the very essence of your being.

Facebook makes me do bad things

Like waste my time. Before I changed my profile to look like the new Timeline, I scrolled through my wall from Oct. 1 2011 all the way back to April 2004, when I first got Facebook. It took me just over two hours and all I got was a comment from an ex saying something about my cuteness being X and something else being Y. Honestly I didn’t even care what the comment was…my heart was too busy being shattered that Facebook didn’t in fact, record my first status. This then prompted me to change my profile to the Timeline in hopes that maybe then it would show…nope. It just says that I joined Facebook April 28^th 2004 and that the first comment ever is from someone who is not me. I will die knowing that and that makes me sad.

Trader Joes is Making Me Grotesque

Ever since I got a car I’ve dreamt of driving to Trader Joes and buying frozen food. What is wrong with me? Just because it says, “Trader Jose’s” on the label DOES NOT mean it’s healthy. It’s like I walk in with the hopes of finding raspberries and heads of lettuce on sale and my plan is completely thwarted when I remember the delicious taste of that lite macaroni and cheese. While I’m there in the frozen food section (yep…I’m disgusting), I go ahead and pick up some Gyoza (because the bag in my fridge just isn’t enough), some veggie burritos, tamales, the whole frozen section really… and by the time my basket is too full to carry, I forget the real reason I came in to shop and go to the wine section and pick up a Chuck. Someone stop the madness. Someone tell me that they steal food from starving children in the Amazon…wait no…make it worse than that. I’m not sure I could pass up mac and cheese for that. I mean, I wear Nikes for godssake.

Tamales anyone?

Have I mentioned I've done really awesome things lately??...

Hiked Lake Serene with Michael

Blue Angels

Trip to Portland

...Met this guy...he's okay too :).