Are You Difficult?

I think I’m difficult. Not a highly attractive quality but I do as Agent Dale Cooper does and I give myself a gift EVERYDAY. Sometimes I give myself MULTIPLE gifts. Coffee. Ice Cream. Lots of TV shows. Magazines. The part that makes me “difficult” is that I ask or get myself what I want. But am I difficult or am I LEANING IN to get the extra piece of pie before anyone else gets it? (That’s what “leaning in” is, right? For food? You gotta lean in for food.)

In what ways are you difficult? Would you call yourself an obsessive personality?

I ask the second part because sometimes my obsessive trait stomps on the little fingers of my difficult trait. I want 400 of the same flannel and I’m going to leave the family party until I get them. Once I do, I will return to the family party but not until my thirst for flannel (or whatever) is quenched.

Have you ever made the mistake of wanting something and letting it go but then realizing you’ve made a grave mistake and can no longer reverse your decision? I try to avoid those moments. Not ALL of them or else this would be a blog about hoarding. ALSO this is not entirely on material items. I get the same way with writing. If I feel I haven’t been creative or let the tension of wanting to write something out, I get a big ball of stress in my chest until I make something of it. Hence this blog where I can dump my crap and humor onto you beloveds.

From a higher sense, maybe it stems from a portion of myself not being fulfilled. That’s when the minor inconveniences start screeching for my attention.

The radio has a commercial. The TV is slightly too loud. The lighting is too dim. Someone is talking to me about the weather.

JUST SHUT UP EVERYONE/THING/APPLIANCE.

Does this affect anyone else or am I just a giant asshole? I’m curious as to what minor inconveniences irritate you.

Okay I love you enjoy the bonfire of my heart.

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