Been going through a phase, been going on for years

When I was little, I went through a lot of phases, but there is one in particular that was kind of weird.

I used to pretend I was dead all the time.

One time I took a bubble bath and I purposely filled the tub with bubbles and put my head under the water to make it seem like I had drowned.

Another favorite activity was jumping on the trampoline with my sister and then pretending I somehow landed awkwardly and died. After she started freaking out, I would get up and yell, “Acting!”

“Brilliant!”

For some reason, nobody ever thought this was funny.

But then a few years later, I was jumping on my trampoline when a bunch of bees that had nested underneath it flew out and stung me all over my body. Finally, my life had actually been in danger and no acting was needed as I ran into my house, screaming like a little girl.

And that, my friends, is karma.

I’ve got a confession that I will make if you will listen

I was raised Catholic, so naturally I had to go to confession every Sunday after church. For those who don’t know, confession is where you sit in a small cell with a priest and tell him everything you’ve done wrong. It’s a lot like seeing a therapist, except it’s free, and instead of getting actual advice, you are told that Jesus forgives you.

Must…not…make…molestation…joke…gahhhh

The first time I went to confession was in 2nd grade. After I confessed my sins to the priest, he told me to say two Hail Marys (the first one was just to make sure Jesus was paying attention, I guess). When I got out, I said, “Dear Jesus, I don’t actually know the Hail Mary. Please forgive me, I’m only 8.”

But anyway, here are some confessions.

First of all, I really don’t like the Kid Rock song “All Summer Long.” I know, I know…how can I not, right? He sings about “smoking funny things” and listening to “Sweet Home Alabama!” And helloooo, it’s summer. But every time I’m in the car with someone and this song comes on, it’s, “Yes!!! Turn it up, bra!” Even if this song was good, I still couldn’t forgive him for “Bawitdaba.”

Fail.

I also want to confess that half the reason I ever go to Walgreens is so I can look at myself in the mirrors that hang on the wall/ceiling in the back of the store. The other half is to get birth control.

Lastly, I want to confess that I had a really hard time trying to come up with things I want to confess. This means that I am really bad at remembering things, or I am just a heartless bastard. Probably the latter.

Those are my confessions. I won’t say any prayers for you.

What an awkward day

By reading that title, you’re probably thinking to yourself, “But Alex, isn’t every day in your life awkward?” Yes, that is true. I’m just a really awkward person. Every day of my life is a journey through Awkward City, which I am the mayor of.

Today in Econ was just another example of my awkwardness/lack of social skills. Class was about to start when I realized I didn’t have a pencil. I could have asked any of the other 75 people in the class if they had an extra pencil, but instead I walked out of the classroom and into the hallway to look on the ground to see if anyone had dropped a pencil anywhere. I think even cavemen figured out how to borrow pencils from each other. That’s how easy it is.

“You just had to go there, didn’t you?”

Then later in the class, my 40-year-old professor’s cell phone went off and his ringtone was LL Cool J. He was beyond embarrassed. Some guy in the class asked, “What IS that?” To which my professor responded: “Umm…uhh…it’s LL Cool J. He’s making a comeback.”

I think I might have some company in Awkward City.

Hug it out, bitch

I saw on the news today that a middle school is enforcing a strict “no hugging” policy amongst its students. And you know what? It’s about time!!

The new pamphlet being sent out to parents.

Kids these days are growing up way too fast. When I was in middle school, I didn’t even think about hugging. All I thought about was drawing funny pictures and watching wrestling. I didn’t even receive my first hug until I played truth or dare in high school. That’s just the way things were back then.

Wait a second. I think by “hugging,” they actually mean hugging. Wow, fuck that.

You should be in my space

I used to have a MySpace. That is, until my inbox was inundated with messages from sexy women claiming they were new to town and wanted to meet me, but only if I visited their website. This really annoyed me, so I would frequently write back to them:

“Hello Denise (or any other oddly trashy sounding name), I would like to meet you as well. However, I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that I’m a sex offender. But the good news is that I’m registered! Also, you look a lot like the last girl I molested. Let me know when we can meet!”

I never got a response.

Also, it seems like these messages are even carrying over to cell phones. Once I even got a text message from one of those services that said, “Text me back if you’re looking for a good time.” Well, I am always looking for a good time (for the record, my idea of a “good time” consists of eating ice cream, riding roller coasters, and catching fireflies). So then my friend asked me who I was texting, and I was like, “idk, my bff chastity?”

I guess it’s not all bad though. I did meet my new girlfriend through text messaging. I just hope we can finally meet someday…and that she’ll stop charging me $2.99 per text.

The War of Northern Aggression (1861-present)

As a northerner living in the south for school, I have experienced a bit of a culture shock.

I’m not that used to how friendly everyone is down in the south. For example, I walked into a store the other day, and someone asked, “Hey how are you?” and I was like “I don’t even know you!”

Everybody says “y’all” in the south…but they say it all the time, no matter the situation. Someone from the university called me once and asked, “How y’all doing?” I thought, “Umm…we’re good? Am I on a conference call or something?”

“White power y’all”

It’s easy to spot the southerners by how effortlessly they say “y’all.” When I tried it, I exaggerated the “y’all” and winked as if I was communicating a secret code that told people I’m part of the underground railroad.

So I guess the main differences between the North and South are the friendliness and the use of the phrase “y’all.” Not to mention all the lynchings.

I work in a shirt with my nametag on it

I worked at an amusement park for three summers and the only thing I have to show for it is a bruised ego and an empty soul.

I worked in the Kiddieland section, or as I like to call it, “legal pedophilia.” Actually, I’m not a pedophile. After lifting up multiple 200 pound, six-year old girls with sweaty armpits, I think even a pedophile would draw the line. They’d be like, “You know what? I think I’m cured. I’m going to find something else I can use to compensate for my parents not loving me.”

“Up! Up!”

“I quit.”

It was awesome though, because I wanted to work with kids, but instead of doing fun, stress-free, indoor activities like painting or having serious discussions about the Wiggles, I wanted to be spit and sneezed on for 10 hours a day in the hot sun.

The main rule we had was that parents were not allowed in the ride area to put their kids on the rides. However, parents were so protective that they would make up excuses as to why they were allowed in, like “My kid doesn’t like to be handled by other people” or “My kid is mentally challenged.” The thing is, all kids under the age of six are mentally challenged. They’re so dumb!

Another great thing about working in Kiddieland is that fathers would tell me inappropriate things because it’s been so long since they’ve been able to do that without being scolded by their wives. This one time, a mother and her daughter got on a ride, and then the father came up to me and goes, “I wish I had your job. You get to look at MILFs all day.” I don’t think there’s anything you can say to that without sounding like a creep. So I just said, “Yeah, especially your wife.”

Also, there was a ride that looked like a bus, so one time a black guy went to get on the ride with his daughter, and they originally sat in the back seat. Then, they stood up and moved to the front. The guy then looked at me and said, “Man, I’m sick of sitting in the back of the bus!” I think it’s sad that these guys resorted to telling lame jokes to teenage kids making minimum wage at an amusement park, but I’ll take it.

Rosa Parks’ favorite ride.

But in spite of the bad pay and stressful moments, there were also a few times I really enjoyed my job. Like the time a boy got his penis stuck in the carousel or the time I saw a man drop a baby and use it to brace his fall.

I really miss those moments.

My wisdom teeth have been giving me grief

About a month ago, I got my wisdoom tooth out. Everything seemed fine until about two days ago when my mouth started hurting again. I think it’s funny that as soon as you tell any of your friends that something hurts, they automatically become doctors. So after consulting my dentist friends, I realized that the hole in my mouth didn’t completely close. Weird logic has taught me that whenever there’s a hole in your body and nothing gross comes out of it, you should probably get it checked out.

It feels like a gay lightning bolt is striking my face.

My dentist friends also told me that the hole should have been stitched close after the extraction, which it wasn’t. I guess it’s my fault for paying some guy on the street corner 5 bucks to pull my tooth. Sure, it sounds like a bad idea now, but it’s not like I have dental insurance through that job I don’t have.

I also probably should have questioned why his diploma was a McDonald’s receipt that said “I am a dentist” in barbecue sauce, but hindsight is 20/20 I guess.

So I guess I’ll be heading to a dentist again this week. Or maybe I’ll find a guy who will only charge me $4.

I’m calling the world

Actual phone conversation I overheard today by some stupid girl:

“I’m running late because my car ran out of gas again! Ok, I have to go, my battery is dying.”

So not only does she not know how to manage her gas consumption, she also doesn’t know what a phone charger is for.

I bet she will be the worst mother ever. I hope she realizes you can’t re-charge babies or refill them with baby gas. Believe me, I’ve tried.

Hey pretty girl, did you go to college? Did you get your BA with all that knowledge?

McDonald’s is now awarding “McDiplomas” – credits toward a high school diploma to employees who complete on-the-job training programs.

Good for them. Here are what I think some of the classes will be:

How To Mess Up Orders As Simple As A Small Coffee and Egg McMuffin

Grooming? What Grooming? (Featuring Lectures on How To Increase Your Acne If You Work at the Register)

Incorrect Button Pushing

Reusing Food That Fell on the Floor (AP Credit available)

Two All Beef Patties, Loads of Semen, Lettuce, Cheese, More Semen, Pickles, Onion, on a Semen-Soaked Bun

Special Orders DO Upset Us

How To Make the Backed Up Drive Thru Line Move Even Slower

Professor Hamburglar has been dismissed for showing female students his “special sauce.”

I’d rather dance than talk with you

I’m taking a dance appreciation class this semester as a required liberal arts elective, and we have to attend three dance performances throughout the semester. Apparently, these are pretty serious because there are only three excuses for missing them, including a death in the immediate family only. So if my best friend died, I’d still have to go see some stupid dance.

Oh yeah, and just to make sure you’re not lying about your dead mother, you need to bring an obituary to prove it.

As if you’re not grieving enough! You actually need proof of the death. I’m surprised we don’t have to bring in a copy of the death certificate or pictures of us crying at the funeral.

Whatever, these dances better be fucking good. Like, really good. I’m talking nudity and violence. And lasers. Lots of lasers.

Thanks for your support

First of all, I just want to thank everyone for their overwhelming support during these hard times. I’m really shaken up, but I know I’ll get through it, and I’ll be better for it in the end.

Thank you to everyone for being there. It means so much to me.

Of course, I am referring to Sidney Crosby being out 6-8 weeks with a high ankle sprain.

Ahhhhhhh.

A not serious look at religion

I was raised Catholic and had to go to CCD every week up until 9th grade. To this day, I still do not know what CCD stands for. My neighbor told me that it stood for “Central City Dump,” but in reality it was so much worse than that.

The teachers were just volunteers who loved Jesus and had no idea how to control a classroom. I remember the only thing that one of my teachers could do to control us was to yell, “Cool your dules!” Then everyone laughed at her because nobody knew what that meant.

My 4th grade CCD teacher was this old man who informed us that God didn’t love gay people, which I thought was ironic, because he really liked to touch me. (Hey, I’m a jokester).

“God doesn’t love gay people…now come over here and sit on my lap.”

Then in 5th grade we had a lady come in to brainwash us talk to us about abortion and show us pictures of dead babies. This was really confusing for me, because I didn’t even learn about sex until 6th grade, so I had no idea where all those dead babies came from. I just thought people were randomly killing babies, so of course I was against abortion.

This picture actually makes me want to kill babies.
Already born ones.

Then I finally got confirmed in 9th grade and haven’t been back to church since. Am I going to hell? Yes, but it’s not because I don’t go to church. It’s because I make fun of retarded people.

And I need to cool my dules.

Celebrity American Idol?

I watched American Idol tonight and apparently there were some special guest appearances:

Tobias Funke from Arrested Development??

Rumer Willis??

Never have I ever…

• Gone down Niagra Falls in a barrel
• Piloted a helicopter
• Been to outer space

I knowww, I’m so sheltered, but whatev.

Take a look, it’s in a book

I go back to school this weekend, and if there’s one good thing about school, it’s that I don’t have to take any more English classes. Don’t get me wrong, I love English, but I hate reading.

I blame LaVar Burton.

In 10th grade, we got to read any book we wanted and write an in-class essay about it. Well, I read about the first 30 pages of “On The Road” by Jack Kerouac and realized it wasn’t for me (It had words, and lots of them). I chose the book because because of a line in an Our Lady Peace song (“Jack Kerouac, K-K-K-Kerouac”).

Our Lady Peace: big Kerouac fans.

Me: who knows?

The first 30 pages of a book usually give you a general overview of the characters and the setting, so I decided just to wing it after that. I was too lazy to even read the SparkNotes for it. I just hoped that my teacher wasn’t a Kerouac fan, because I made up every single thing that happened. I wonder if the book is actually as good as I made it seem. Oh well, I guess I’ll never find out.

It’s a shame I’ll never read you.

I also hate discussing books in English class because everyone tries to make things in the book seem more important than they really are. Teachers have always taught me about the deeper meanings and symbolism of blood, water, and trees, but I’m sure if you’d ask the authors what they were trying to accomplish, I think they’d say, “Uhh…I like trees, okay? It’s just a book. Get over yourselves.” At least that’s what I’ve always told everyone in my English classes.

Mice on a plane

Apparently a bunch of mice got loose on a plane and everyone started freaking out. Too bad Samuel L. Jackson wasn’t there to make everything right.

All Photoshop credit goes to me.

Last year, the guy who worked the grill in my dorm cafeteria looked just like Samuel L. Jackson. I always wanted him to say, “I’m sick of these motherfucking patty melts on this motherfucking grill!” But then he got fired for yelling at a white girl.

Frenchy I’m faking

My friend asked if I wanted to have coffee with our high school French teacher over break and I told her no. I haven’t taken French since my junior year and I know our teacher would try to speak French to me and I would be just as confused as I was when she tried to speak French to me in high school.

She would be like, “Bonjour Alexandre. Ca va?” And I’d go, “Uhh, je voudrais…au…toilette?” Because that was always my excuse to leave class. (Anything involving the bathroom).

But I actually do remember a lot of random phrases and words in French, which is kind of weird, because I never actually remembered them while I took French. I guess it just had a delayed reaction on me.

I also feel bad for not taking a foreign language anymore, which is why I want to learn sign language. I already know a few phrases.

Sign Language 101. I watched a lot of Full House when I was little.

I tried to interact with a deaf person once before, but I think my obvious mouthing of words and weak attempts at making hand signals really offended them.

It’s not my fault I wanted to tell them I had to go to the bathroom.

I <3 Huckabee(s)

Just a heads up: all my reasons for liking/disliking presidential candidates are based on pure hunches or made up information. So don’t argue with me. You will win.

Mike Huckabee won the Iowa Caucus today, which is kind of surprising, considering I just heard about him three days ago. My friend said that if Huckabee gets the nomination, his campaign slogan should be “I <3 Huckabee.” I told him that is a fabulous idea, because I’m sure his political advisors are telling him to go with a slogan that references some Jude Law movie from four years ago that nobody saw. What a cast, though.

We also discussed Ron Paul. Besides being insane, I knew there was something about him that wasn’t quite right. Then my friend pointed it out: his name is ridiculously similar to everybody’s favorite drag performer RuPaul. “I always think of that when I see his name,” he told me. That’s reason enough never to vote for him.

RuPaul ‘08

Well, that’s actually the only political opinions I have today. Tune in next time when I talk about how I refuse to listen to Fred Thompson because he looks like Gollum.

“My preciousssss”

You’re so nice and you’re so smart

Today I got my wisdom tooth out. Yeah, only one of those suckers needed to come out. I don’t feel less wise now that one of my wisdom teeth is gone. In fact, that tooth had been holding me back for way too long. It stood in the way of my mouth reaching its full potential.

Google image search result for “wisdom tooth.”
Random baby. Sorry.

They only gave me local anesthesia, so I wasn’t knocked out or anything. The only time I’ve been unconscious was after I had my blood drawn in 5th grade. They accidentally stuck the needle too far into my vein and I passed out. After I woke up, they gave me some Sunny D to help me regain my strength. I want to say I was molested while I was passed out, but I don’t think that happened. But even if I was, hey free Sunny D!