FLASH POST! Driving Blind.

Quick post so I can go nappy-bye.

My frequent readers know that most my days are weird because I have my freak flag stapled to my chest BUT today had an extra sprinkle of “hmm…how unusual.”

I woke up in a shit mood because I had love dreams and I woke up and didn’t have a love reality. I didn’t feel so hot between a headache and my morning acid reflux so I threw back some alka seltzer and made a coffee (I’m REALLY GREAT at balancing acids and anti-acids!). I don’t remember getting dressed but I was in my car, peeling out on some wet leaves, burping up some hot remains of whatever acid I ate before bed.

It was rainy while I was driving to work so I had my new windshield wipers swishing. SWISH swish SWISH swish SWISH swish SWICCRRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKK.

My driver’s side windshield wipe cracked off and the jagged metal remains propelled it off into the road and under my back tire. GuhBUMbum.

I could see the car behind me crunching it under their tire. Cya later windshield wiper! RIP! Have a nice life! Drop me a line!

It was raining pretty heavily so I couldn’t stick my head out the driver’s side window. That and it’d get ripped off by the renegade MBTA buses they have Tokyo drifting in the streets. I’m pretty hunchy as it is (did I tell you a potential suitor asked if I had scoliosis? HE THOUGHT I HAD SCOLIOSIS) so I craned my neck to the passengers side.

I was in panic mode until I got to work, when I burst out laughing at the absurdity of annihilating my own new windshield wiper. Pulverized. Crunched to smithereens. Swish Swish Swish CLUNK annnndd there she gooooes goooodbyyyyeee!

Thankfully, I had my old wipers in the trunk in case of emergency. I spent 45 minutes searching YouTube for videos until I just read the (5) steps in the instruction manual- 3 of which include making sure you shut your car off before you run yourself over.

I changed it, crisis averted, christ has risen or something.

It was horrifying not being able to see or even pull the car over. That being said I’m really sorry if your pet cat, dog, or maybe even your husband don’t return home tonight, I forgot to check my wheel wells. My panic mode shuts down my peripheral vision and I’m pretty sure I was chanting something in Sanskrit. But I’m ALIVE and changed my own wiper because I’m big and strong.

OKAY! Flash post over. Thank you for reading.

k love you byyyee why do you always smell like bread?

500 Days of Flannel

The wolf in sheep’s flannel.

I’ve been investing in men’s clothing lately. Specifically in $16 men’s flannels at Macy’s WHO, by the way, leaves the heat on 500 degrees in all their department stores. By the time I made it to the Men’s Department on the second floor I had to duck behind some scarves and wipe my upper lip sweat on the hats and mittens.

I’m starting to believe I have what one would call an “obsessive” personality. That hint might have been dropped for you when I started my series of posts “Songs I Listen to Compulsively” (new addition coming up soon…lots of Hall & Oates in this household this month).

WELL m’dears, if you have not tried on the John Ashford flannel collection, YOU are surely missing out. So what if it makes my already fleshy triceps look like giant meaty turkey legs you’d likely only find at a Renaissance Faire? They may look big but you know, those turkey legs are also damn DELICIOUS. You have to make sacrifices for the great good sometimes. And that greater good is the comfort of knowing you have a fantastic and comfortable outfit you can wear 8 days in a row without repeating a pattern or getting questioned about your own personal hygiene.

AND THEY HAVE CHRISTMAS-ESQUE COLORS! Like most plaid flannels, the standard red/green/some other color make you look extra festive and definitely not obnoxious at all.

Speaking of obnoxious, it’s that time of year again…IT’S A VERY LOLO CHRISTMAS! Every year I bathe in the holiday spirit by soaking myself in a nice hot bath of humiliation. Well, I’m not embarrassed by it, but I’m sure my peers have picked up the slack on those reindeer reigns and are mortified for me. SEE BELOW.

Screen Shot 2014-11-19 at 9.08.00 PM

I really relish in stretching the bounds of my appearance. In other words, I’m not afraid of seeing how far I can go to make myself look like an asshole. Turns out, all it takes is my blowdryer and a Kmart clearance sweater!

Anyhonk, if I don’t get my 13 hours of sleep I just might crack. I’m going to go lay down in my nice, soft, pile of flannels and dream about buying Irish Springs body wash and shaving my face.

okay I love you and don’t forget to build a castle in the sands of time.

Your Sniffer!

SHORT POST TODAY!

I was standing in my kitchen when suddenly I got a whiff of Apple Jacks.

I’m not sure where the scent came from but in that moment I was consumed by my cinnamon-y enchantress. I immediately left and bought a box (and some Cinnamon Toast Crunch) and have been eating cereal every day for lunch and dinner. Update: My teeth have NOT fallen out yet.

After my sugary shame-eating, I started thinking about all the different types of smells that trigger strong emotional responses from me. In this case Apple Jacks = ENVY/LUST/SLOTH/WRATH.

Then there are scents like the shampoo I used in college which reminds me of when I starved myself for 3 months out of depression. Just image a little skeleton weeping softly onto her twin extra long mattress but with beautifully full and flowing hair. An emaciated Rapunzel, if you will.

The smell of Burt’s Bees Grapeseed and Honey Hand Lotion reminds me of when I got my first tattoo (it’s what they used to keep the burning dead flesh moisturized before it falls off). It also brings up the memories of what was going on at the time. What kind of hobbies I had, what restaurants I was going to consistently (obsessive personality, I just bought 5 flannels because I liked the first one I bought so obviously I needed ALL OF THEM), and obviously the glaring reality of WHO I WAS SECRETLY IN LOVE WITH at the time.

Sometimes I’ll get a whiff of what my first elementary school smelled like, which surprisingly isn’t barf and embarrassment. Maybe a little bit of embarrassment. Thank Christ I never barfed at school, I’d never be able to live that down. One time I got stuck in my school uniform after gym class (dresses are hard) and I sat in the bathroom and cried for 20 minutes (probably 2 minutes) until someone found me and dressed me. My mom did my hair until I was 14, lay off.

I really want to know, What scents bring back strong memories or feelings for you? Do you have a strong emotional connection from another one of your senses?

Jet fuel-ish smells makes me nervous that I’m going to get shoved onto a plane then shoved off it mid-flight. My heart rate just spiked thinking about.

I was listening to a guided mediation and the man narrating began by asking what dominates how you think. Do you think in pictures? Words? Do you react to smells more? Touch/physical feeling more? I have a big honker (toot toot, sniff sniff, where’s the Zicam?) so it came to no surprise that smell came easier to me than trying to “taste” something. Also, I definitely think in words more than pictures because pictures I end up morphing into something sexual because I’m a pre-teen boy trapped in a 25 year old woman’s body. Hehe.

Okay it’s time for bed I love you I can smell you from across the internet with my nose wow is that Irish Springs?

Shy Children

Hello, my friends.

As I write this, I sit here in as an adult woman wearing $15 oversized, doughnut patterned, flannel pajamas I bought at Kmart. I’m wearing 4 different colors of eye shadow, burning my already dried out eyelids. I’ve previously mentioned the Gold Bond I’ve purchased and I’m steadily working my way through the tube. If you can believe it, I never used to be this wild.

We all know and love the BuzzFeed Quiz. Which potato are you most like? What color booger are you? BUT the holy grail: Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

It seems with the break of all this quiz fever, the introvert/extrovert theme kept coming up over and over again. It got me to thinking about my life as a shy child, forever suctioned to my mother’s leg, forced to respond to inane questions at my family’s functions. “Where did you get that dress? Can I borrow it?” a cheerful 40-year old woman would screech into my face. No, you idiot. You’re OshKosh days are long gone.

How did I go from shy child to indifferent adult telling the world about the types of shits I take and how much I’m sweating?

Shy child syndrome lasted from about kindergarten to three years after I graduated college. I still feel traumatizing moments lurking around the corner.

The worst for me was ordering at restaurants.

The happy server grinning, “AND WHAT CAN I GET FOR YOU?!”

I dreaded my turn. I’d whisper, “pasta with marinara sauce.” Please leave me alone.

“SORRY, DIDN’T CATCH THAT SWEETIE. WHAT WAS THAT?”

Dammit. I’d whisper again “pasta with marinara sauce.”

Good enough for you?

“THE PEPPERONI PIZZA?”

Shit. That was my cue to nod and eat whatever gruel they presented with me. Unless my mother would pipe up and ruin everything.

“LAUREN, SPEAK UP. SHE’D LIKE THE PASTA WITH MARINARA SAUCE.”

Nooooooo mother. How could you betray me? I couldn’t let them win. My 9-year-old pride was to impenetrable. “NO I’D LOVE THE TRIPE!” Let me die here please.

There were many a-time when I would be choking to death on an onion or paint chip and I’d sit in silence, suffering and waiting for death to take me. I could usually play it off in a crowd but mothers have a sixth sense when their child is  casually choking to death before their eyes. I vividly recall choking on a D’Angelo’s sub in the middle of the food court. My windpipe sealed shut. I would’ve been happy to die there, clear bra straps coming out of my Weathervane crop top with a giant glittery “68” on the front. But my mother had different plans.

“SHE’S CHOKING, MY GOD SHE’S CHOKING!”

Shut up and let me die, Marge. 

The situation was diffused when she fisted my mouth and removed the offending string of vidalia,..

SO, my question to you children: Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Were you a shy or an outgoing child? (Loki voice) TELL ME. 

k love you don’t forget to wipe your feet before ruin nana’s carpet

You’re a Big Yatch

Oh, my dear little bloggerinos. How are you?

I just got back from NEW YORK CITY the other day and I’ve been laying around ever since. I walked 10 miles in one day in my big combat boots so now I don’t have feet anymore. Buuuuut I DO have a rash on my eyelids! I bought Nana Creme (Gold Bond) and have been smearing it across my eyes. I somehow did not expect it to burn. I imagine it’s what putting peppermint toothpaste on your eyelids would feel like. Très great.

In other news, I swapped cars with my mom so now I’m driving the yacht, or as the layperson would call it, “a Subaru.” I also just spelt yacht “y-a-t-c-h.” YATCH. Sounds like an insult or some kind of vaginal infection.

It’s fun blowing out the speakers on a car that isn’t yours. I listened to Miley Cyrus’ “Bottom of the Ocean” about 50 times. After the 4th or 5th time I forgot I was singing it and would zone in and out and start wondering if I was singing that whole time. After the 15th or 20th time I started messing up the words because it all starts to blend together. WHICH PART OF THE SONG AM I AT? WHAT SONG IS THIS? SHOULD I BE OPERATING A MOTOR VEHICLE?

Anyways, I bought another Oprah magazine ANNND I forgot I get Oprah Radio so I’m ready to let the healing begin. I’m also ready to let the sweepstakes entries pile up. LET ME WIN, BABY JEESUHZ! Or just let me win baby Jesus! I’ll brush his hair and feed him hay. Cuz that’s what babies like.

Okay my little key lime pie crusts, GOODNIGHT! I LOVE YOU! TELL GRANDPA YOU LOVE HOW HOT HIS FEET GET IN HIS LOAFERS!

I’m in Bed Already, God Bless America

It’s not even 10PM yet and I’m perfecting my nest. I’ve gathered my pillows and bits of hair and twigs that I can wrap myself in to keep warm. I was getting punchy there for a while so instead of using the $30 firming night cream I bought, I dumped a bunch of lavender massage oil in my hands and greased my face up. I’m feeling relaxed.

The downside to being in bed is now that I’m thirsty, trekking the 20ft to get the Brita filter seems unbearable. I could take the 10ft walk to the bathroom and use the tap water there but it’s been leaving red marks in the sink. At least I think that’s from the water but I have been flossing lately.

Anyways, I’m still hyped up on candy since Halloween. Everyday I treat myself to some leftover candy because I NEVER* treat myself! (*And the lie detector determined that was a lie).

Did I tell you I am in love with the guy who works at the gas station down the street from my house? I bet he likes candy too. I’m not sure if he has a girlfriend, wife, boyfriend, or husband but I imagine we would lay together in my nest and feed each other KitKats and Whoopers. The burger not the candy. I’ll let you know if I make any headway in Operation: Let’s Be Gross.

Today was weird. Was today weird for you? Tell me how it was weird for you. I want to know. You’re special to me.

K I love you, yellow looks nice on you.

Crunchy the Car

There were a few days there that I didn’t post, eh?

If you MUST know (yeesh, get off my back already), I was in a car accident the other day.

Nothing major but it was one of those moments much like finishing school forever,  or getting dumped, or death of a someone you know. Just an Ooh. So this is what this is like. Hmm. Proverbial check mark made.

Now that I’ve self medicated with leftover* Halloween candy (*candy I bought for myself while I sat at home with the lights off) I’m ready to talk about it without feeling like the girl who cashes in on all her terrible experiences. Although if I could get cash to talk about my terrible experiences I would promptly send you my bank number.

Because I am a sick person, I cackled during most of it while the other driver sobbed. Maybe because it was her fault and I haven’t had the ability to cry since 2008 but hey I can’t pinpoint with all these variables.

The abridged version is I was dressed in a tight as fuck, spandex, Deadpool costume heading to an 80s dance party (held on a boat). My friend was desperately trying to change into her Jessica Rabbit costume in the back seat (all parties except for the boat were wearing their seat belts, don’t fret).

A few cars ahead of me, a car had its tire hanging off, hazards on, nothing happening. The girl in front of me sat for 5 minutes until the honking started. Did I mention we were at a 4-way intersection during rush-hour in Boston? That was a thing too. Anyways, the girl backed up into the intersection so she would have enough room to go around Mr. Brokeydown. She had enough room. Then not so much. Then none. Then OH GOD NONE NO ROOM NONE. I beeped just to let her know that she hit me (not a big deal, it was tap). Unfortunately, the beeping scared her and she stepped on the gas and careened backwards. Crunch, crunch, crunch. She straightened her self out, put it in drive and we were able to find a space where we could both pull over.

She came bombing out of her car (in her jammies) with tears streaming down her face. She was so concerned about my well being I started cracking up and ended up consoling her. I remember that teenage fear of what…have I done…WHERE IS MY MOM, PLEASE HELP.

I hope her parents let her take the day off of school the next day.

It’s all I could think about the next day. Close calls always jolt you back into the reality that anything could happen at any time. That’s also the beauty of it. Anything could happen at anytime. Let’s just hope it’s good, like being able to stand on the side of the road in your Deadpool costume telling a stranger you are 25 and have no idea who your car insurance provider is even though you pay the $130 bill every month.

C’est la via, ammiright?

We ended up skipping the boat party. Our adrenaline was through the roof that I might have just driven straight into the harbor and wouldn’t have noticed the difference.

***

I hope everyone had a cavity inducing Halloween. What did you dress up as? Did your costume give you a rash? I want details.

k love you.

L.L. Bean has nice boots.