A Secret

I have a confession. Do you remember that episode of Saved by the Bell where the gang goes into business selling (I think it was) Screech's great grandmother or whatever's famous spaghetti sauce? They make tons and tons of it and shoot a commercial and these kids are in high school, what on Earth? Anyway, it turns out that Screech's whatever relative it was actually stole the recipe from some big spaghetti sauce corporation, and they swoop in and hilarity ensues. 

Well, ever since I saw that episode of Saved by the Bell when I was probably 8 years old, I've lived in absolute terror of inadvertently stealing some big company's recipe for something and attempting to sell it, and then getting sued - or worse! - thrown in jail. I don't know where on Earth this fear came from, seeing as I had zero plans to sell any edible product until at least early high school, and I have absolutely no clue why is persists as I'm a (relatively) logical adult, but to this very day, I'm petrified of accidentally stealing "secret recipes".  It's more of a subconscious thing now, but it's still there. I was a batshit paranoid neurotic law abiding child, and now I'm a batshit paranoid neurotic (imaginary) law abiding adult. 

Cool, huh?

I Might Have a Problem...

So, I opened my cupboard today to grab my morning oatmeal, and this was what I had to move to get to it...

Um...this is actually kind of insane. There are TWO PEOPLE living in this house. To my credit, two of those peanut butter jars are just about empty, and I only have two containers of marshmallow fluff because I forgot I had the first one. Looks like I need to get going on some baking projects.

PS - The natural Skippy with honey is by far king of my PB castle. Natural Jif is definitely second, and Natural Peter Pan with honey can straight up suck it. It blows. You've been warned.

Oh, and also - Biscoff is better than TJ's cookie butter. Yeah, I said it. Let the hate mail pour in. Cookie butter is way dryer. I do like the crunchy option, though. Get on it, Biscoff.

"Mom, that weirdo's looking at me again!"

Today I'd like to talk about pool etiquette.



This summer, I've been hanging out by the pool a lot, often by myself. It's very relaxing, and it's nice to have time to myself to just read a trashy magazine and listen to some tunes while soaking up the sun. Unfortunately, "my" pool is actually a shared pool with the rest of my apartment community.



Now, you probably think that I'm going to complain about the fat, trashy moms that hang out by the pool with their greasy fingered children, KIND of watching them splashing around and potentially drowning each other, occasionally yelling "JESUS Harley, cut it out or you won't get no more chips!" (Sidenote: Harley is a brand name for a large, loud, obnoxious motorcycle. It is not a name. It is ESPECIALLY not a name for a girl. Get your shit together.) And you wouldn't be far off track. That would be very much like me.




That's not what this is about, friends. My predicament has nothing to do with the quality of the company at my neighborhood pool. It has to do with my crushing social awkwardness. You see, every so often I get HOT laying by the pool, so I decide to take a dip. As you do. My conundrum is, once I'm in the pool...WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?!



You'd think that the answer would be simple. "Swim, moron! You're in a pool. Swim!"

It's not that easy!


When you're by yourself in a relatively crowded pool, it's difficult. You can't swim laps, because that shit is too crowded. Plus, if you're the only person swimming laps in a non-athletically oriented pool, you're gonna look like an asshole. What the hell else is there to do in a pool by yourself? There's no one to splash around with, or even to talk to. So, I usually just end up bobbing around awkwardly for several minutes, before retreating in defeat. I usually end up people watching (and MAN is my pool THE PLACE for people watching, let me tell you), but when you're in a pool, people watching is just another name for "creepily looking at people". My neighbors probably think I'm retarded, or a serial killer.



Sometimes I try to make up for it by talking on the phone when I get back to my chair. However, that probably backfires on me, as I'm usually (always) doing so with my ear buds in, and therefore appear to be talking to nobody.



Maybe I'll get a bluetooth and talk on the phone IN the pool. That way I'll look REALLY insane, and like an asshole at the same time! If I'm going to be awkward, I might as well really embrace the whole situation.



Or I could just buy a house with a pool. Sounds like a plan to me!

50 Shades of Embarrassing

So, let's talk smut.


Like countless other women of all ages, I have been reading the 50 Shades series by EL James. As you're probably aware, the series follows young innocent Anastasia Steele as she is seduced by the wealthy and mysterious Christian Grey. Apparently, the series was started as Twilight fan fiction (?), and the characters are supposedly based on Bella Swan and Edward Cullen (which, I don't know what the Hell that's supposed to mean. If anything, the characters remind me of Sookie Stackhouse and Bill Compton from the True Blood series. Not that anyone in this series is or has anything to do with vampires.)

Also as you're probably aware, this series is being categorized as "erotica". There are a LOT of very graphic sex scenes, many involving BDSM. This shit is getting middle aged (and young) womens' panties in a bunch all the livelong day. It's all anyone wants to talk about these days. So of course, curiosity got the best of me and I decided to dive right in, despite reading NUMEROUS horrid reviews on Amazon.

Okay, so here's the humiliating thing.

I. Am. So. Into. These. Books!

The worst part is, I'm not even into the sex scenes! They do nothing (or very little, at least) for me. I'm not remotely into anything involving BDSM, and I actually kind of skim over the sex scenes for the most part. I am actually 100% into the story!

And, you guys! The writing is ATROCIOUS! The whole story is COMPLETELY unbelieveable. The heroine has little to no personality, and there is basically NO reason that the wealthy, devastatingly gorgeous billionaire (yes, BILLIONAIRE) Christian Grey would even acknowledge her, let alone fall deeply and madly in love with her. The author of the book is British, and she keeps putting Britishisms into the 100% American characters' dialogue (saying "you look smart" instead of "you look nice", "holiday" instead of "vacation", etc.). The relatively young (in their early-late twenties) characters speak as though they're 65, and live during the early 1900's. The phrase "oh crap!" or "holy shit!" or "oh jeez!" is used EVERY THREE WORDS. All I can picture while reading it is Kirsten Dunst's character in Drop Dead Gorgeous ("oh crap, oh jeez!"). In fact, several Amazon reviewers actually ran counters on various phrases, and came up with something like 95 repetitions of some form of "oh crap" (occasionally upgraded to "double crap"). And Anastasia is constantly referring to her infuriatingly annoying "inner Goddess". Constantly. If she's not referring to her "inner Goddess", she's instead being chided by her subconscious. Who wears horn-rimmed glasses. Christian is, again, a BILLIONAIRE, self-made, at the age of 27. He is also DROP-DEAD gorgeous, a sex god, very well-endowed, an accomplished pianist, and a PILOT. Yep, a pilot. He owns his own company, and works for about 10 minutes a week (if that). Oh, and he speaks fluent French. And assumably every other language imaginable. Why not?

That said, I can't put this silly shit down. I'm midway through the second book (Fifty Shades Darker). In fact, as soon as I'm done writing this, I'm probably going to go scurry off to my bedroom, snuggle up in bed, and read about young Ana chewing her lips as her subconscious rolls her eyes and her inner goddess does back flips in her cheerleader costume. (Yeah.)


Seriously, I'm going to go read my smut now.

Horrifying News.

This post will be on a somber note.



...







YOU GUYS, I HAVE A TINY HEAD

!!!

This is serious. I just recently realized the brevity of the situation. I always knew I had a small head, like, hats have always been a bit roomy, but I thought, "Ooh, that's so cute! My head is dainty! It's petite!" But then I realized. It's not proportionate to the rest of my body!

This is tragic. I basically have a shrunken head. What do I do with this information? Can I have tiny hats tailored for my tiny head? How much would this cost? Probably a lot. What would happen if I wanted to be a racecar driver? An astronaut? Would there be a gap in my space helmet? Would my head explode a tiny little explosion?

Probably.