Countdown to Thanksgiving: A Tribute To America’s Greatest Holiday

Every year on Thanksgiving I promise myself that I will limit my food intake like a civilized human being who practices restraint and self control, and then every year after dinner on Thanksgiving I immediately unbutton my pants and say the words, “Diet tomorrow.”

It could be that I’m just so thankful for food.  But it also could be that I am a gluttonous human being and make a point to eat everything in sight like it’s the last time food will ever enter my body.  I honestly don’t even like cranberry sauce, but the idea of something disappearing without me ever getting a chance to enjoy it is enticing enough every year to make me slap it on my plate and immediately regret it.

Meanwhile, my father sits at the head of table practically bathing in cranberry sauce while wishing he had a third arm to help put all the food into his mouth before he passes out on the couch ten minutes after the meal is over. #FoodComa

But the nature of the holiday at some costs seems to be lost.  While there is an emphasis on spending the time with your loved ones and eating a crap ton of food until you have to put your fat jeans on from college, the purpose of the holiday itself is to be thankful for all we have.  But why do we do that just one day of the year?

In my opinion, holidays are just reminders that we’re all shitty people who are self-involved to the point that we need an actual DAY OFF from our lives to remember that we should be thankful for what we have. When did our society become selfish enough to not appreciate the gifts, the people, and the good in our lives on a daily basis?

If you are one of those superhumans who are innately good and caring and wonderful, I salute you, you’re doing the work of a modern-day saint.  But for the rest of us millennials, we’re all too busy slaving away from 9-5 trying to make enough money to afford our apartments, maintain active social lives, and keep up an appearance that we’re actually adults.

I’ve also been in this weird funk lately where I hate any and everyone, so I’m going to use this mini blog series as a way to combat the innerdemons of an overly privileged white girl from Connecticut.

For the next week, in preparation for Thanksgiving, I will be listing off things I am thankful for; because we should be thankful for things that bless us every day, regardless of how big or small they are.  I cannot promise they will be serious. But I can promise food and wine will be mentioned.

Today, I’m thankful for pajamas.

Much like everyone else who works 9-5 or just a job in general, you have to get dressed in the morning.  And while all of us would like a job that you can wear sweatpants all day, the number of openings for gym teachers are limited because the United States doesn’t seem to think exercise is a necessity for children.

I wake up every day and put my pants on one leg at a time.  And really, I mean that because I actually need to concentrate on just getting that one leg in there and plant it for support so I don’t fall over.  But there is no better feeling than watching the minutes tick down on your work clock so you can remove all the constrictive attire you’re forced to wear all day, envisioning that pair of pajamas blissfully sitting folded and tucked away in your closet or dresser, awaiting your arrival.

And for reals, big boobs or small boobs, all women know what a nuisance it is to have those puppies strapped to your person like a gun holster.  The countdown to bra removal is so real I am doing it right now.  I’m sure men can related to this on some level, but then again, no they can’t because they don’t have boobs.

I salute you, pajamas, for giving my body an outlet free from judgment.  Because no one can really judge attractiveness when it comes to sleepwear.  Personally, I like to greet my bed wearing a XXL Bruce Springsteen tshirt and a pair of my brother’s sweatpants. My roommates take a more adult approach and wear clothing that fits. They’re like all put together and stuff though.

I am thankful that pajamas are my go to outfit from Friday to Sunday and it’s not frowned upon in the slightest if I don’t change out of them and stay horizontal for 36 hours straight.  Sure, showering is like totally encouraged, but if you don’t know one really knows. Shhhhh.

Whatever your night time outfit is, make sure you give it a high five tonight.  Make sure you hug that ratty tshirt you’ve been wearing for six years a little tighter.  Say thanks to the clothes that give you through the strength to get through the workday as well as through the night.

<3


What are you thankful for today?

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It Has Come To My Attention That I Am Deformed.

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Thanks, Dr. Obvious.

I didn’t know if I should speak out on my personal struggle with this particular malformation, but after reading this post on a similar subject, I felt it was my civic duty to enlighten the interwebs and at the same time, acknowledge my condition, so in case I become rich and famous, TMZ and E! News will not be able to use it against me.

It is also high time I take my responsibility as a newfound adult seriously and admit that I am not perfect.

In fact, I am deformed.

A month or so ago, my boyfriend was visiting, and it since was under sixty degrees outside we were able to hold hands whilst traversing around the city.

Sidenote: This may or may not be another unknown medical condition I need to research, because if the weather is above sixty-eight degrees, my hands sweat uncontrollably and I can’t lock fingers with anyone or anything.  I used to nanny and when I would walk anywhere with the kids, I had to assist them through the crosswalks by grabbing the collars of their t-shirts like dogs in order to avoid an unwanted sweaty palm debacle. 

But anyways, I’ll look into that another time, back to the part where the air was the perfect amount of crisp so I could link phalanges without fear of being dumped due to aggressive hand perspiration.

He picks up my hand, examines it, and then says something that smacks me in the face (metaphorically) with a big, fat dose of deformed reality.

“You have toe fingers.”

It was at that moment I realized I did not have hands fit for a ring model, rather my mitts looked like I should be wearing socks instead of gloves.  I was horrified.

Exhibit A.

Exhibit A.

After he pointed out my enlarged nail beds and all encompassing fake fingers, I refused to give high fives. I didn’t want to shake any more hands.  It was embarrassing.  I was messed up.

Moments, maybe hours went by feeling singled out, but a side-by-side comparison of my thumb and my big toe revealed that his accusations were not in vain, they were actually true.

Thumb or Big Toe?

Twins?

Then I realized how inexplicably good I was at handstands when I was a kid and it was probably a direct result of the Meg Lago toe finger epidemic.

I also conveniently remembered how committed I was to the Toe Sock trend in the early 2000’s, which makes sense now since they are essentially gloves for your feet.  I was a foot game pioneer at an early age, and no one sought to hire me for various endorsements.

Honestly, toe socks would probably still be cool if Nike or Adidas had called me when I was thirteen for a sponsorship.  Let that just sink in for a second.

I just want the world to know that Toe Fingers exist, and if you have them, announce yourself to the world like me.  We can start a support group, talk about all the things we wish we could do if we were only born normal.

We can wear gloves on our feet and socks on our hands, parading about like we own the world slapping soccer balls into goals and making foot fives the new craze on the streets.

Somebody get me some toe gloves and hand socks, PRONTO.

Somebody get some toe gloves and hand socks, PRONTO.

I guess diversity is what makes the world turn.  We all have differences, and mine just happen to be the sheer fact that I have feet hands and I’m not afraid to show it.

25 Things I Learned from 24.

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This could be the reason.

Today is my twenty-fifth birthday. Here is what I learned from the past year.  In list form.  Because I’m extremely hungover.

  1. Just because you are the loudest person in the room, doesn’t mean you deserve to be heard.
  2. Never pay full price for a baseball game ticket.  Wait a couple innings and scalp them for half price.
  3. Family is forever.   Suck it up, confront your problems, and get over it.
  4. Walking in heels should be an olympic sport.
  5. It’s better to have a small group of close friends, than a large group of acquaintances.
  6. People like to get married when you’re poor.
  7. If you sleep with someone the first time, you probably won’t get called back.
  8. Branch out and make new friends.  Just don’t forget about your old ones.
  9. Travel whenever you can.  Don’t be that person that regrets doing something because you didn’t want to spend the money.
  10. Grocery shopping doesn’t mean going to the CVS snack aisle.
  11. Find something you love, and then find time to do it on a consistent basis.
  12. Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t do something.
  13. Unless its referring to parking your car in a tow away zone. Then you should listen to that.
  14. Boys have feelings too, whether they admit it or not.
  15. People aren’t going to be interested in your life unless you show an interest in theirs.
  16. Acting like a jackass is acceptable if you’re wearing an oversized, floppy hat.  #Regal.
  17. Don’t make a kissy duck face at a camera unless that camera is actually a live human being that you plan on kissing.
  18. Learn to be alone. Understanding your personal needs will only better every other aspect in your life.
  19. Don’t be afraid to talk about your feelings.  Unless you’re afraid to talk about your feelings, then writing a strongly worded letter is a great secondary option.
  20. Landing your dream job doesn’t happen on the first try.
  21. Unless your dream job is to be unemployed, in which case, you’re in luck.
  22. Effective communication is a lost art.  People say what they don’t mean and mean what they don’t say.
  23. Rallying after day drinking is a lot harder once you have graduated college.
  24. Wine is acceptable to drink at all hours of the day.  Breakfast wine is badass and definitely not an early sign of alcoholism.
  25. Trust your instincts.  There’s a reason why you feel conflicted about eating street meat at 2am.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: I Am Officially Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman.

amen. preach. yup.

amen. preach. yup.

Well kids, it’s the beginning of the end; my twenty-fifth birthday is on Monday.

Yup, the big quarter-century label is coming for me faster than the cops who are hassling me to pay all my parking tickets.

I’m facing my last weekend as a twenty-four-year old and forcing myself to look back and reflect on how exactly I got here. You know, in life and stuff.

I don’t even remember anything that happened before third grade, so let’s start there.

I was six-years-old, sitting on a rock outside my grandparent’s barn holding a stray cat my uncles had taken in thinking I wanted to be a veterinarian.

It was that easy.  You just grew up, found something you loved, and did it. 

I loved animals; I owned a hamster, liked petting cats, and frequently wrestled with dogs; so I was going to be a vet.

When I was eight, I got pissed off at my parents and decided that I wanted to renounce my position in the family and live off the land like Pocahontas.  I gathered up all the belongings any eight-year-old would need, put them in a backpack, and left my house in a fury to make a statement.

My mother didn’t notice I was gone for over four hours, she just thought I was playing outside like a normal girl when I returned home for dinner because I had forgotten all about the food and shelter portion of survival outside a house. I did, however, bring an extensive collection of cds for my battery operated discman, and a slew of J-14 magazines.

At age ten, I remember falling so deeply in love with Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic to the point where I was determined to become an actress.  I joined the school play in fifth grade; I did anything I could to sabotage my family’s home videos and get experience in the spotlight.

The only issue was I had no acting talent, which was evident in my being cast as ‘stage crew,’ and my mother was not supportive in my newfound endeavor to become rich and famous before I could correctly spell the word ‘business’ on the first try.

this is how you look when you're 25. i think?

this is how you look when you’re 25. i think?

Which, in hindsight, my adolescent track record with drinking and recreational drug use would have landed me in the same position as Lindsay Lohan right now.  So thanks, Mom.  You did me a solid on crushing that fifth grade dream.

I actually blacked out all of middle school and don’t remember anything except for when Mrs. Townsend gave my friend Jocelyn and I a detention because we purposely put our left hands instead of our right hands over our hearts one too many times during the pledge of allegiance.  Apparently that was disrespectful.

All throughout high school I was almost certain that I wanted to go into marketing and advertising.  It was what my dad did.  He had season tickets to the New York Rangers and frequently used us kids as pilot testers for his agency’s commercials.  It seemed like a pretty badass career field.

I never listened when he told me how much he hated his job, never saw how overworked and overtired he was, and I conveniently never remembered how often he wasn’t there for the most formative years of my life.

It wasn’t until college that I realized I was extremely lazy and wanted summers off for the rest of my life.  The stark reality of the real life work force haunted my dreams and made me gain over thirty pounds.

That last statement was false, I gained thirty pounds because I was in college and drank handles of vodka after eating two-hour dinners at the all you can eat dining halls.  And I refused to exercise because the gym was too crowded and stretchy pants were in style.

I was twenty-one, fat, and going into my senior year at UConn when my mother pointed out how much I loved working with children.  I decided I was going to switch my major with four credits short of a Media Communications degree and pursue teaching; a field in which I had absolutely no idea what exactly was entailed.  But it had summers off.

At the end of my schooling, I had collected a Masters in Teaching, a Bachelors in Media Communications, and a Bachelors in English.  I wanted to be a middle school English teacher in Boston.  So I moved;  because finding teaching jobs in a city at a reputable school, with nice kids, and good pay is really easy to do.

It wasn’t.  I was twenty-three and unemployed.

I do have a job now, though.  And I like it.  But I didn’t use any of my degrees to get it, which is just both comical and completely depressing all at the same time.

Ultimately, I learned it was never going to be as easy as finding something you love and doing it.  

With three days left until twenty-five inevitably smacks me in the face like my hangover will on Sunday, I am humbled by all the failed dreams I’ve had, and cling to the ones I still have.  There is no way of knowing which will come true, and which, if not all, will be epic failures.

I can say wholeheartedly that I have not a goddamn clue in the world where I will be in five years.  None of my previous ambitions really panned out the way I wanted or wished, but I can only hope that with this birthday, I will magically be gifted the knowledge of what the fuck I am supposed to be doing with my life.

Until then, we can always thank the high heavens and my mother that I did not become Lindsay Lohan or Pocahontas.

Tag Has Been Banned From Recess And I’ve Lost All Faith In Humanity.

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Survival 101.

Humanity has lost its mind.

We’re just all living in one, big, ozone-covered insane asylum that is slowly but surely turning all of the world’s children into pansies.

Playgrounds were once viewed as a voyeuristic jungle in which a child could pretend to be anything he or she wanted.  Now, they are reduced to kindergarten demilitarized zones in which kids are forced to simply just sit down and watch as the swings sway in the wind.

Tag is banned.  Dodgeball is eradicated.  Fun is gone. 

Now, I got hurt quite a bit as a child.  From my middle finger almost being severed (which would have been tragic considering how much I use it), to a tree and bike collision, my childhood was far from band-aid and emergency room free.

But I like to think that despite all the cuts, bruises, and broken bones, I turned out to be a socially capable adult and functioning member of society (Please refrain from further investigating that statement).

I also like to think that playing (physical) games during recess in elementary and middle school are crucial to cognitively developing social skills with other people.  How is a kid going to grow up knowing he wants to play football if he never gets the chance to play it during school?  How is a child supposed to know what defeat is if everyone gets a trophy and there are no losers?

Newsflash:  The world is full of football and defeat. Life is tough, to ignore it is preposterous, and to ban it is blasphemous (big word usage, +100 points). Get a helmet and go back out there.

This one is about a trip down memory lane and paying tribute to the fallen soldiers of the recess game world.

Let’s take a look at the games considered too dangerous but I played them and turned out fine:

Red Rover: Ahh, Red Rover, Red Rover, send Pete on over! The classic game of death grips and running full speed ahead at the weakest pair in the line.  This is a game of strategy for both teams.  So while you’re over there picking the weakest kid on the opposing squad to run through your child chain linked fence, he or she is over there plotting the same revenge to be extracted.  And is there a better feeling than breaking through an elementary arm grip?  I don’t think so.

**Redeeming Value: Learn how to shake a hand.  Have you ever shook someone’s hand and it was like holding a dead fish?  Prescribe that kid a game of red rover and he or she will have the firmest handshake in town.

Tetherball: I’ll be honest.  I made my mom put a tether ball up on a tree in my front yard so I could practice daily.  There were lines out the playground to get a piece of the tether ball champion at recess.  The best was the momentum, once you got it, there was no stopping – and hearing the chain that connected the ball to the rope hit the pole to end the game was nothing short of a magical experience.  Short kids shouldn’t play this game. It’ll be an uphill battle from day one.  Sorry.

**Redeeming Value: Hand-Eye coordination.

Butts Up: Fifth grade aim is mediocre at best. Plus, if you were a girl lucky enough to survive three rounds of this game – you were pretty much guaranteed a prom date by age seven.

**Redeeming Value: Obtaining a prom date earlier than everyone else.  Avoiding that type of stress is seriously encouraged.

Freeze Tag: Survival of the Fittest.  Run or be frozen.  Don’t know how you can take that away from a kid. If you were the only kid to escape freeze tag without becoming a statue?  You’re a legend, and definitely a future Olympian.

**Redeeming Value:  Learn to be a statue.  If you’re good at freezing, you’re probably good at being one of those guards in front of the royal palace who don’t move at all. Or you could become a gargoyle or a garden gnome, depending on your level of ambition.

Dodgeball:  What were balls made for if not for dodging?  Get over yourself.  If you’re out, sit down. Hopefully there’s an athletic Joe out there who can catch a ball and you can learn how to shadow the good kids and not get out on the first throw.  If you don’t have athleticism, use your brain. Making the star baseball player become a human wall for you is probably the best advice I will ever give.

**Redeeming Value: Learning to sneak under the radar.  Shadowing the best player on the team will ensure you that you will at least not be the first one out, thus you’ve removed the brand on your face that says you suck at throwing and catching. CHA-CHING.

Rest In Peace, Recess Games.  You were always there when I needed an ego boost or stress relief.  Hope you’re up in activity heaven just hamming it up with banned books and platonic hugs from inspirational teachers.  There is now a thirty minute play period in schools where kids just kinda sit down and stare at things.  It’s apparently way more fun and a lot more safe.

PS – I challenge anyone to a game of tetherball. Anyone 5’4 and over 160lbs with extreme athleticism need not inquire.

Treat Emotions Like Beer, Bottle Them up.

brothers.

brothers.

Although my parents would characterize my seemingly regular childhood temper tantrums as a pretty aggressive display of emotion, outside of demanding extra dessert and slapping my brothers for ripping the heads off my barbies, I’ve never been great at expressing my feelings.

Maybe it was because I grew up with three younger brothers.  As the oldest of four, and the only girl, I never really had a model for how to act.  My mother and I, although very close, are very different when it comes to personality.

Needless to say, if you’re going to survive eighteen years in the midst of a male dominated household, you have to learn how to protect yourself in emotional combat.  Aside from the regular physical battles, the way brothers really get to you is by finding your mental weaknesses, and attacking when you least expect it.

Growing up with brothers teaches you not to dwell on little things, to stand up for yourself, and how to be competitive.  But it also, unintentionally, leads you towards the masculine side of the emotional spectrum; so instead of saying how you feel in the moment, you retreat and don’t talk about it.

When you hang out with boys all the time, you learn that they would rather give you a beer than sit and listen to your problems.   

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friends.

Because nothing makes guys more uncomfortable than when a girl just unloads all her personal crap on them.  Especially if it’s during a football game or when you’re out at a bar. When you have a “girl day,” you learn to drink a beer and deal with it later.

This works well until you realize you are in college and have not sustained one real or lasting relationship during your lifetime.  If someone wanted to date me, I was either unaware or uninterested, because if it meant talking about feelings and being vulnerable, I didn’t want any part of it.

Everyone puts up walls for different reasons.  Personally, the initial thought of letting someone in that you barely know is daunting.  The act of sharing secrets, opening doors to your past, and exposing yourself, metaphorically, to another person for the sake of a connection is terrifying.

At the same time, while a little mystery is a good thing, there needs to be a dichotomy between the two people in a relationship to make it work.  Eventually you will have to let your guard down.

Recently, there have been an overwhelming amount of circumstances that formidably illustrate my inability to give up control over certain aspects of my life.  Whether it be attending a friend’s wedding, my parent’s thirtieth anniversary, or my most recent breakup, I have come to the brutal realization that I need to step outside my comfort zone in order to foster a meaningful connection with someone.

I’ve had my fair share of crazy experiences: skydiving, bungee jumping, one time I even ate cat food.  But the tangible part of being afraid is much more desirable than emotionally freefalling into unknown territory.  I mean at least after skydiving I got a sticker telling me I did a good job not dying.

Thinking about the craziest thing I’ve ever done, I immediately remember how terrified I was to actually commit to it.  Picking up and moving to a new city, alone, without a job or any financial support other than my own was the single most daunting event in my life.  But looking back on the past year and a half, knowing where I am now, the reward was totally worth the struggle.

At the end of the day, no one can make you take that leap other than yourself.  Outside influences, supportive or not, have no weight compared to what your gut tells you to do.  Knowing that personal reflection and a willingness to change are attributes I admire in someone, it only makes sense that I try and develop them.

My twenty-fifth birthday is only a few weeks away.  I’m not entirely positive if it is the looming “quarter-century” age label weighing on my conscious, or just the stark reality that I’m resisting a change I know I need to make, but either way, it’s scary as all hell knowing that being vulnerable is something that is not only expected, but appreciated in lasting relationships.

I guess I’ll just have to be twenty-five and terrified.

I just hope someone gives me a sticker on my thirtieth birthday.  I need to know I did a good job not dying.

Teach Me How To Do… Anything.

Some people just have it all.  They’re gifted with athleticism, gorgeous flowing hair, the ability to eat a thousand bags of cool ranch Doritos and not gain a pound.  The “have it alls” are naturally beautiful, conversationally gifted, and can generally stop drinking after one glass of wine.

Then there is me.

On a good day, which is usually a Thursday, I snooze three times before getting out of bed, realize I don’t want to there is not enough time to shower, and opt for a headband to conceal the collection of greasy follicles on my head.

Make up is a struggle.  Picking an outfit is a war.

Despite the fact that I’ve made several resolutions to be more polished and put together, I can’t seem to get my body on board by taking sleep off the top of my priority list.

Basically, I’m a hot mess and I can’t do anything correctly due to the fact that sleep dominates my life and I was given the short end of the stick in the talent department.

Given the opportunity, or a new body that miraculously is good at stuff, I would like to know how to do the following:

Cooking:

It’s no secret that I am the worst chef on the planet.  You ask me to make you toast, I’ll give you a plate full of bready ashes and a glob of jelly on the side.  I just don’t know how to do it.  My idea of a fully cooked dinner is a bag full of microwaved steamed broccoli and a side of 90-second rice.  I like microwaves because you don’t touch anything, and at the end of three minutes, your meal is hot and you didn’t ruin anyone’s day.

Construction:

If I have to look at another piece of IKEA furniture and try to assemble it based on picture directions, heads will roll. There are always four extra pegs and a structure that, to me, looks sound, but once I place an item of more than a pound on it, the whole thing will come crashing terribly to the floor.  I can’t build anything.  Except bears, I can totally build a bear.

Anything involving cars:

I bring in my car for a routine checkup and the mechanic tells me I have a four-foot-long boa constrictor in my engine and a nest of African rats in my trunk.  Seems reasonable, so yes, I’d love to pay $800 for you to alleviate that problem, Mr. Mechanic.  It would be nice to know that it isn’t possible for my gas tank to be under the hood of my car, or the general location of my spare tire.

Navigation:

If I text you and tell you I’m five minutes away, multiply it by four because I will be lost in thirty seconds.  I cannot, for the life of me, navigate to and from a location in one successful attempt.  Sure, you may think to yourself, “Why doesn’t this chick just buy a GPS?” And to you I say, thank you, but even GPS are not immune to my idiocy, and I have no idea how far three-hundred feet is, so now seems like a good time to make a right.

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Yeah.. um, let’s just take a left.

It’s Time For A MAKEOVER!

What?  Something’s weird.

So by now, you may have realized things look a little different around here. But it’s just like when you lose weight.  It’s the same body, just a new look.

I realized when I first started this blog back in December, I was very hasty — much like with everything else I do — and didn’t think everything through before making decisions about the site.  So now, I have to correct those mistakes.

After spending some time writing this, being introduced to communities, and learning what successful blogs look like, I realized I needed to make some changes.  I needed a new name, one that reflected the theme of my blog, and that’s something I didn’t have with Twenty-Four Problems.

There are a slew of twenty-something blogs out there, and they pretty much kill it.  While I do fit into that age range, I want to distinguish myself from them, and to do that I have changed the name of my blog to something I feel is way more fitting, unique, and applicable to the stuff I actually write about.

So, without further adieu, welcome to Half Wit, Half Wisdom, or in other words, Half and Half.

I hope that the name change doesn’t send you into a metaphorical tailspin.  I hope you will all still be my friend. I am looking forward to the future with this name, and truly feel I can grow as a writer in this community far better with this, and hope you all join me on the road to… wherever I go.

The new URL will be: thehalfandhalfblog.com – save it, like a lifeguard. 

halfhalf

you can tell by the header, this is going to be a serious change.

Leave a comment below letting me know what you think!

 

24 Things I Irrationally Hate

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Irrational Hatred: An immediate dislike for someone or something that can’t be justified or has no reason behind it.  The main reason being that he/she/you/they/it ” just drives me insane.” 
  1. Kristen Stewart and the fact that she never makes eye contact or smiles.
  2. Starbucks employees who spell your name incorrectly, I’m on to you.
  3. The first stall in any public bathroom.
  4. Dave Matthews Band.
  5. Using the word literally when something isn’t actually happening at the moment.
  6. Teenage drama television shows where the central characters never have parents.
  7. Boys, because they don’t have to wear bras. (If you’re a boy that wears a bra, GOOD FOR YOU!)
  8. You, if you drive the speed limit.
  9. People that knowingly leave their shopping cart taking up entire parking space; you jackass.
  10. Girls who are able to apply makeup without making themselves look like a streetwalker that owns the corner of Harlot Avenue and Pay Me For This Boulevard.
  11. People who order salads at restaurants because they’re “watching their weight.”
  12. Tankinis… What are you?
  13. Odd numbers.  Get out of here.
  14. Horizontal stripes for being my favorite pattern but at the same time paradoxically making me look four times larger than I really am (or am I?)
  15. The weather being a universal and acceptable conversation topic.
  16. Upforkers – for obvious reasons.
  17. Crop circles. Farmers already have a tough life, let’s not make it worse, okay?
  18. Chipotle for promising me things and not delivering.
  19. Paying for things.
  20. The snack aisle vortex at the grocery store for having a magnetic pull on my weak soul leaving me with the inability to avoid purchasing birthday cake oreos.
  21. Hiding tampons in your sleeves, shirts, pants, ears, and pockets because even as an adult for some reason it’s still weird to have people know it’s that time of the month.
  22. Cab drivers.  Oh wait, nope that one is rational.
  23. Diets and the people who can actually stick to them.  I’ll be over here on day two spoons deep in nutella and stuffing my face with marshmallows (see #20).
  24. Those elastic-waisted, maternity pants that are supposedly only for pregnant women.  Non-preggos have fat days, too.

I’ve been here a few minutes too long.

Do you ever get that uncomfortable feeling that creeps up on you at the worst time?  Maybe that one that shows up after you’ve been having a blast, making fast friends, and then all the sudden you realize you one of three people left at a friend-of-a-friend’s house and the friend that brought you has disappeared into thin air?

Yeah, it’s that well known feeling of shock, horror, and awkward turtles letting you know that you are lingering.  You’ve just been there too long.

We’ve all done it.  I’ve had my fair share of overstays, not taking hints, and utter annoyances.  It’s a natural progression from being completely oblivious to social cues to blossoming into the world of knowing when to utilize a timely exit.

But for some, this realization never comes to fruition, so we are left with the human crumbs of a once delightful friend cake.  The remnants that hang around too long, are hard to get to leave, and ultimately, end up ruining a perfectly good dinner date.

Are you that guy or girl that likes to greet friends and relatives with a warm embrace?  If so, good for you!  I’m all for a handshake to hug combination when it comes to people I haven’t seen in a while.  But for the love of Rudolph at a clown convention, don’t hug me for more than fifteen seconds. Chin to shoulders, maybe a pat on the back and a, “Nice to see ya, bucko!” and let’s just move on.

If that’s not enough to make you uncomfortable, let’s bring up that person at the party who tells jokes that no one understands. I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t quite understand why you’re equating your wife with professional cow tipping. But I’m going to fake laugh anyways and try and change the subject to something we can all relate to, like stickers, puppies, and wine.

Oh yeah, and screw you, hangover, you sneaky son of a bitch.  If I wanted pain of death without actually dying to last more than an hour, I would avoid drinking all together.  Instead I take the good with the bad, knowing that my headache is a mere consequence of my inability to avoid peer pressure, pop an Advil and move on with my day.  But sometimes, Mr. Hangover, you want to hang around all day, and frankly, I don’t approve.  It’s rude, and it confines me to a twenty-four hour horizontal period of indoor vampire activity because sunlight hurts my eyeballs.  Take a cue from the last kid at the party and leave before you’re unwanted.

It’s that smell that seems to permeate the air at the worst possible time.  You could be out at the bar with your friends, having a girls night, taking shots and reminiscing about the time you studied abroad and got robbed in broad daylight.  Then all the sudden this stench hits your nose like a punch from Mohammad Ali.  You cannot get over it, you cannot look past it, and you cannot figure out where it is coming from.  If you are the person providing the general public with a smell strong enough to bring the fun level in a room down, please make a note to check yourself before you wreck everyone else.  It’s common sense to have a sense of smell; use deodorant.

I’d like to politely say, “stop it forever” to The Cranberries. You do not have to, have to let it linger.  The band had to practice some sort of ironic witchcraft that allowed that song to have staying power, but nevertheless, I’m here to plead with the masses and ask to remove it from your rotation, permanently.

It’s all fun and games to take a trip down memory lane.  Some of the greatest memories I have as a child are so vivid in my mind it’s like they happened yesterday.  But there is something about seeing an image that is so mentally scarring that it’s almost like an iron, tattoo needle, and a camera all came together around your cerebellum and said, “this one is going to stick with you forever.”  Do I want to forget the time I unintentionally intercepted a sexual text message between two people with whom I should not know anything about their sex life? Absolutely.  Is it going to forever be burned into my brain only to leave when I die? Yes.

But that’s the thing about the lingerer – it doesn’t go away when it should.  I don’t understand why the good things never seem to hang around, like maintaining your goal weight after after a birthday party at Junk Foods R’ Us, or not feeling pain when you walk in heels.

Basically, whoever said too much of a good thing is bad never had anything good happen to them.  They probably wanted to make out with the person hosting the party, had a blast and stayed longer than anticipated, but ultimately ended up staying too late and making it awkward.

And that sucks for that person, but let’s not make unwanted hang arounds a thing, okay?