Well, that Walmart adventure was full of poop.

Well, that Walmart adventure was full of poop.

Not real poop, just the word “poop.” And poop emojis, but I don’t have pictures of those.

I was going to use the word “poopy” in the title of this post, but when is that word ever really acceptable? You know, unless you’re potty training a kid or using that instead of “shitty” around the lil’ anklebiters. But since I already said it: Yesterday’s Walmart adventure was shitty poopy.

This was basically me the whole time.

The past couple of days have been pretty boring, so I wanted to do something to break the routine. Which… A trip to Walmart might not seem like such a big deal, but I just wanted out of the house. So when my mom was on her lunch break, I got dressed and headed out to Walmart with her. I was hoping it would be like my last Walmart adventure, but this adventure sucked. There wasn’t even penis-covered tablet cases anymore.

What was once penises have now turned to warm greetings.

It started off okay; I even saw Lilly Singh’s new book out, which totally excited me because I LOVE her YouTube videos. And then I bought it online from Barnes and Noble because their’s was cheaper AND signed. I’m going to swoon when it comes in. I also found a cute owl wax warmer for the Harry Potter wax melt that was gifted to me. From then on, it went down hill fast. Why? Because I’ve been to Walmart hundreds of times. I am always having to pick up groceries or my brother’s medication, so I am always looking around in there. I’ve pretty much seen it all so many times that the adventure becomes lackluster. Which, in retrospect, can you really expect more than that from a trip to Walmart?

I found my life motto. Now to get it on a shirt. Or tattooed on my butt. Probably just the shirt though.

After an hour, I decided to sit out in the van to be alone and charge my phone. I decided to message a friend to see if she wanted to talk on Skype, but after over an hour of waiting on a reply I deleted the message because I figured she was busy. And, honestly, didn’t think she has been interested in talking to me. It’s silly, but when it comes to friends I get really insecure. I start to feel annoying when I message them first or go on about things they might not care about, so I shut up. And then when I start to feel like they don’t really want to talk to me anymore or as if they have lost interest, I start to fade and shut them out. And sit in the van, alone and sad, while wishing I had stayed in bed.

When they go without talking to me, too, I switch between two thoughts:

  1. “I’m glad they’re not upset by me being quiet; I can be quiet as much as I need.” – As an insecure introvert with anxiety and depression, quiet time alone is like a sanctuary.
  2. “I wish they would actually talk to me, but what if they just don’t want to?” – However, instead of a sanctuary, sometimes it is more like a curse.

There are times when I want to be social and chat it up with everyone, but I can’t always bring myself to do so. I tend to rely on others to talk to me first – not to be petty, but to get that push. Sometimes, like yesterday and today, I give myself that push and try to talk to my friends, but after a while of them not reading my messages or trying to talk to me I just panic, delete the messages, and go back to my hiding place until I shake off the negative thoughts and feelings.

A few days ago, I woke up to Max sleeping on my head. It was the best thing to wake up to.

Sometimes we just have to dust off the negativity and look for the brighter things in life. But we should always remember that, as Jenny Lawson often says, depression lies. People do care about you, even when your brain tells you that they couldn’t care less.

What did you do with my Harry Potter books?!

What did you do with my Harry Potter books?!

Not that anyone actually did anything to my Harry Potter books; they are still safely on my bookshelf. I had a dream last night that wasn’t quite a nightmare because it wasn’t scary, but it did rattle me emotionally. I guess it was more of a confusing and bad dream than a full blown nightmare.

I don’t remember much from it other than, for some reason, I was living in a large house with my family and shared a room with my friend. Aaand there was a group of old, devout Christian women living in the rooms upstairs (not that it’s a bad thing, I am a Christian, too). Why? Because they wanted to be closer to Heaven. Because I have no idea, that’s why.

The room my friend and I shared was small and messy compared to the rest of the house. It was big enough for two twin sized beds at each wall with barely enough room for us to lay beside each other in the floor between the beds. And there were art supplies EVERYWHERE on the floor. Colored pencils, sketchbooks, gel pens, oil pastels, and even paint. I want to assume that most of these things were mine for coloring books considering she seems to prefer arting  (spellcheck says that arting isn’t a word which is silly because it is definitely a real word) digitally. She was laying down, sketching an anthro (apparently anthro isn’t a real word either, but I’m still using it. SUCK IT, SPELLCHECK) poodle character she had apparently been wanting to use as a mascot for her art sales.

It reminded me that I wanted to show her something I made, so I sat next to her and turned on my tablet. Just as I entered the password, there were shouts and crashes coming from upstairs. My friend didn’t seem to hear it or care, and instead said she wanted to draw old cartoon characters as animals to see how they would turn out. I was beyond confused as to how she could ignore (or maybe not even hear) the noises, but I shrugged it aside and ran to see what was going on. That’s when I saw it.

My bookcase was laying at the bottom of the stairs, broken with my books barely surviving the fall. I started to pick everything up and getting the bookcase out of the way when I noticed something: All of my Harry Potter books, bookmarks, and buttons were gone. They weren’t on the floor, hanging off the shelves, or even laying on the steps. They were nowhere to be found, and I wanted to know why. I walked up the stairs, still picking up books as I went along. When I finally made it to the top of the stairs, I smelt smoke coming from the rooms that the women were staying in.

Just as I was about to knock on the door, a woman (who looked like Ethel from Parks and Recreation) opened the door and started screaming at me. More and more of the women ran behind her, all bickering and yelling about how they “took care of the book problems.” I didn’t understand what was going on, but having five or six little old ladies screaming at me after they destroyed my books and bookcase was enough to make my anxiety go through the roof. I panicked and slammed the door before running (and half-falling) down the stairs.

Ethel doesn’t take no shit.

My immediate response to what happened was to tell my family about it so someone else could deal with the situation. Which would have been great if not for the fact that I couldn’t find any of my family. I looked in every room, still hearing the yelling from upstairs, but no one could be found. It wasn’t until I was about to give up and hide in my room that I nearly walked into my mom. I tried telling her about what happened, but she didn’t seem to care. She just told me to mind my elders and to behave (as if I was a child acting up). It frustrated me, but I didn’t say anything about it. Instead I took to my room to hide from the craziness.

I tried telling my friend about what happened, but she didn’t really seem to care. She just kept drawing and asking me to hand her the pencil sharpener and eraser. The yelling only got louder as I sat in my bed, almost in tears. It wasn’t like anything big or horrific was happening, but it was enough to have me wanting to scream and cry. It was enough for me to wake up while still feeling like I needed to scream and cry (and even confused as to why I wasn’t already).

But I didn’t, and I did manage to get back to sleep a little bit afterward. The dream afterward was still kind of weird, but not in the stressful and holy-shit-what-is-happening-I-need-to-hide way. It was about an old friend that I tried to contact suddenly. The weird part is that she replied to me in French. Yeah, dafuq, right? It confused me a little, but instead of asking her about it I started scrambling on my phone to send her the lyrics to Cindy Daniel’s song Sous Une Pluie D’étoiles. Not the English translation, no, the French lyrics. And she doesn’t even know French (I BARELY know any).

I don’t understand why she sent me something in French or especially why I chose to send her those lyrics, but dreams are meant to not make sense, right? And at least it wasn’t about screaming old ladies who burnt my Harry Potter books, RIGHT? Those questions aside, I think I know why I had these dreams (for the most part).

Before bed I was looking on Barnes & Noble for Harry Potter merchandise when I saw that there was a book about how Christians should deal with Harry Potter. I rolled my eyes and laughed about it for a moment. For the more emotional stuff, however, I think it was because I have recently started talking to a friend about things that have been on my mind for the past couple of weeks. It was nice to get it out and to talk with someone who has been through the same sort of situations (and have similar reactions to these situations) as me. The only thing is that instead of ignoring these things like usual, I am left thinking about them before bed after having ice cream and a shot of Buttery Nipple (don’t judge me).

All in all, it’s safe to say that my Harry Potter books are safe and sound.

Let’s make a wish together.

Let’s make a wish together.

When some people see dandelions, they see pesky weeds that are “ruining” their lawn. Others might see allergies or bees (the latter is actually a good thing and we should totally try to save our bees), which bums them out. When I see dandelions, part of me still sees wishes ready to be blown.

A few weeks ago, I was reading Nova’s (I really recommend reading her blog; she is so funny and insightful as she writes about her trips around the world) blog post about treating yourself when it made me think of how often I treat my own self. Other than a trip to Louisville to meet Jenny Lawson and getting a new journal for writing on my Walmart adventure, I almost never treat myself to anything. In fact, I am one of those people that almost rarely treats themselves. I’d rather get things for other people – whether they need it or not – and if I do treat myself I usually feel guilty about it immediately after because the funds could have gone to something more important. Don’t even get me started on when people gift me things.

“If dandelions only bloomed in rare places they’d be more valuable than orchids.”

While that is mostly because I’d rather be practical and save for the future, there is a part of me deep down that doesn’t really feel like I deserve to treat myself to jewelry or handbags or anything special. Why? I don’t know. No one has ever tried to talk me out of treating myself except myself. My family and friends have always urged me to self-gift when they know something has caught my eye, but I almost never do. When they ask why not I never have a good answer to give so I usually change the subject or act like I didn’t really want or need whatever it is even though I did. Then I will think about getting the item and guilt immediately washes over me before I even decide to get it.

Yes, those are Brontosaurus stickers from a Wonder Ball. Don’t judge me.

So, after reflecting on my lack of self-kindness (or self-esteem?), I decided to look for something that I always wanted: A moon locket. I found a beautiful one, but then I thought about something I would treasure even more: A terrarium necklace. And that led me to finding this window locket with three dandelion seeds preserved inside. I’d like to think of it as wishes kept close to my heart for when I really need them, which is more often than I would like to admit.

It might seem childlike or silly, but I still like to make wishes. Sometimes I wish on the first star I see at night and any meteorites passing through. I wish on dandelions, fallen eyelashes, and broken turkey wishbones. Sometimes when 11:11 rolls around and I happen to see the time, part of me remembers elementary school when the kids would say, “It’s 11:11, let’s make a wish!” And I wish on that, too. A lot of it is because of habits from when I was a kid that are hard to break, but part of it is because there are a lot of things that I would wish for if wishes were real.

I’m not big on jewelry, but I am happy to wear this around.

For a moment, let’s pretend that wishes are real and we could have that one thing we want with all our hearts and make a wish together. Let’s close our eyes, picture whatever it is, and smile as we think our wishes (because obviously if we say it the wish might not come true). It might not come true just yet, or even at all, but at least you wished for it, right?

Now let’s start treating ourselves better, be it with self-gifts or simply taking better care of ourselves. We might make wishes, but we don’t need them to be kind to ourselves.

The situation has been assessed and cracked.

The situation has been assessed and cracked.

Now we can finally put it behind us.

I was browsing Facebook and my friend shared this article about how the “Texas Butthole Tickling Bandit” was finally caught. AND THEN I DIED OF LAUGHTER, RIP ME.

I don’t care if it’s real or fake, this made my day. No, it made my life. I’M STILL DYING OF LAUGHTER. It only got better when I looked it up and found this other article about it, too, from last year. It’s anustonishing. The best line? Right here:

We spoke we Richard Nays who lives near 3 of the “B*oty ticklers” victims homes and he told us “Fam I slept on my back everyday, I can finally sleep on my stomach again”.

We can now rest easy and unclench.


***EDIT: I THINK I KNOW THE IDENTITY OF THE TRUE BUTT TICKLING BANDIT. That or there are a ton of butt pirates after the booty. In Texas.

I’m a sentimental time traveler.

I’m a sentimental time traveler.

Okay, so, I didn’t technically travel through time. That’s impossible. And if it weren’t I would have changed a shit ton of things that has happened or I would have accidentally screwed it all worse. But I didn’t, I promise. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could though? (Travelling through time, not accidentally screw everything up.)

Look away, it’s naked!

A few days ago, I purchased a new bookcase because my old one just wasn’t doing its job. My books have been stacked on my computer desk and my laptops have been sitting on my ottoman. I probably should have gotten a new bookcase forever ago, but my laziness if my greatest quality. But now that I finally got a bigger one I have been going through my boxes for books to fill it with, except I didn’t just find books and journals. I found memories from my childhood that I have saved for what feels like ages.

THIS IS OLD AS BALLS. How do I still have this??

First I found this old, beat up book about Rain – the female horse from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron – and was brought back to a time when I was, like any little girl, obsessed about horses. I had books on horse facts, a ton of the Breyer figures, and a ton of Spirit merchandise. I never left home without my Spirit and Rain backpack and I always had to bring my VHS tape. It was one of my favorite movies (in other words, I watched it over and over again until it was conveniently “lost,” according to the grownups), until I moved on to The Lion King.

The first (and last) watch I ever wore. I wonder if I can get it a new battery and find a new identical band…

I actually remember the night I ordered this watch. My birthday was coming up, so I picked out this watch and a Cradlin’ Cub Nala from the Internet back when it was still a toddler (the Internet, not me). I loved The Lion King more than I loved any movie. I would play with my plush cubby Simba and Nala’s as if they were going on epic adventures across the savanna; my bed would be covered in stuffed animals and figurines until it was time for bed. I’d watch the movie and its sequel over and over – and I didn’t even like a lot of things about the sequel, so that’s how you know I was dedicated. I knew all of the songs by heart and kept a Hakuna Matata spirit (until puberty hit and worries were EVERYWHERE). It’s still my favorite Disney movie of all time. The Lion King is what led me to finding out fanfiction existed and meeting one of my best friends (hi Sian).

This drawing has seen better days. And can we pretend I didn’t write my name like that all over everything? AND YEAH, THAT’S A HEART WITH WINGS AND A HALO. I WAS A DUMB KID AND THOUGHT IT LOOKED CUTE BADASS.

I asked my youngest brother to draw an alien or a monster for me about 11 or 12 years ago, some time after he was diagnosed with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. I don’t know why I had suddenly asked him to draw something for me – I just knew that I wanted it. And then I put it inside my Disney princess photo album, which it where it has remained ever since. Now it is old and torn (and dirty from being old and torn and thanks to glue and dust), but I still wouldn’t throw it out for anything in the world.

Can you believe that he only signed the “From” side? He told me to write my own name on the “To” side. And then he laughed at me when I asked him to write my name, too.

I also kept this Valentine he had given me when we were little, too. I’m 97% sure that our mom made him give us each a card, 3% sure he just wanted to act like he was a little celebrity signing autographs. He’s still as stubborn and sassy as ever.

A girl once tried to steal this from me at elementary school even after explaining where it came from. What the hell? Actually, it was the same girl from my podiatrist dream. Holy shit.

I found this necklace, too. It was given to me when I was about 9 or 10 by my great-aunt. I vaguely remember her telling me that it was given to her by a woman with cancer, so I kept it safe and sound. I’m not sure if I’m remembering correctly though, but that’s what I have vaguely remembered since she gave it to me. Even if I’m wrong and she had just made it herself I’ll still take care of it and it’ll still be important to me.

Is there even a point in saving an un-sharpened pencil simply because of its logo and place of purchase? If so, I’m doing something right (but probably not).

These were also in my box full of memories and junk. They were from my first vacation ever – a very traumatizing vacation full of Jesus posters, deer getting punched in the nose, and a trip to the emergency room. Seriously. It was what taught me that vacations aren’t as glamorous as the movies made them out to be. Also, we technically kidnapped our grandfather – and by kidnapped, I mean tricked him into thinking we were going on a short drive and ending up in North Carolina; at least he enjoyed himself –  but that’s a story long enough to be its own post. Maybe I will write about it next week. Maybe not all the memories were so great, but they certainly give good stories to tell.

Here’s how it looks so far. It isn’t perfect, and I certainly want the physical copies of the books that are missing from my collections, but it’s getting there.Also, if you look very closely you can see my “Shit Happens” button.

I’ve kept a lot of things throughout the years even though they were just pieces of memories that have since passed. They’re full of moments that I will always cherish – moments I’d like to share someday as I create new memories.




Well, he wasn’t wrong… Kind of.

Well, he wasn’t wrong… Kind of.

I recently got a new SIM card so that I could go back to using my iPhone instead of the prepaid phone I have been hating with a passion using. Since I’m totally against wasting anything, especially food or electronics, I gave the prepaid phone to my brother because he didn’t have one. He finally set it up and received a shit ton of late text messages that were meant for me, so I guess y’all might know where this is going…

Most of them were just confirmation texts, but one that stood out was a text from a number containing nothing more than a silent video of gel pens. This led to an interesting conversation:

Brother: What the crap? Who texted me? *checks texts* It says it was sent on the 18th. So who texted you, your girlfriend?

Me: Wait, what? What’s the message? *still not exactly out and still unsure if he saw my coming out post, but I knew it wasn’t one of those types of messages (AND BY THAT I MEAN IT WASN’T A ROMANTIC MESSAGE, you perverts)*

Brother: *hands me the phone* It’s either your mother, one of your little Internet buddies, or your girlfriend. I bet it’s probably your girlfriend. I don’t know who it is, but I know it’s some type of woman in your life!

Me: … Shut up.

Brother: See? You’re not denying it. Hurry and text her your new number so I don’t get lovey messages from your girlfriend!

… And then I hit him with a pillow.

By the way, it was our mom who sent the video. I asked her to check what gel pens were in stock. So technically he was right when he said it was our mom/a woman in my life. But then he went on about it being a girlfriend and he lost the guessing game.


I went on an adventure at Walmart.

I went on an adventure at Walmart.

Something that not too many know about me is that I like to refer everything – even the most mundane of tasks – as adventures. Going shopping? Have a dentist appointment? Taking your dog on a walk at 6 AM? Congratulations! You are going on an adventure. Doesn’t that sound fun? Yes? No? Okay.

It might sound like I am just getting excited over these things or that I enjoy going to the dentist or waking up early, but in reality I just call them “adventures” to actually get myself to do it rather than stay in bed and hide all day. Besides, who doesn’t want to say that they went on an adventure?

My latest adventure was at a place that I usually dread going to: Walmart. You know, the place where the employees tend to disappear as soon as you need one. The place that is almost always out of that one thing that you always run out of. The place full of screaming children, teenagers having buggy (don’t look at me like that – in my hometown shopping carts are referred to as buggies and that is what I always knew them to be, so shhhh) races, and people who leave their buggies in the middle of the aisle as they walk off to grab something (because they just couldn’t bring their buggies with them and prefer blocking the aisle off). The place with almost no check-out lanes open so that customers can line up until they’re all the way in apparel. Yeah, that place. My mom likes to refer to it as hell, but I keep trying to remind her that hell is actually warm and Walmart’s heating sucks, so unless hell had to do some cut-backs or its heating system broke, Walmart isn’t quite hell. It’s similar, but it still isn’t that bad. Sometimes.

The funny thing about Walmart is that, oddly enough, the most strangest things seem to happen there. Or at least that is how it’s like at my local Walmart. You never know if a guy is going to run around the store in only his underwear (yes, it did happen and there are pictures) or if a guy is going to take a knife into the bathroom, cut his neck with it, and then buy it while the employees call him an ambulance (I swear I am not making this shit up). You might even come across a hearse that’s being used for an ice cream truck (SERIOUSLY PEOPLE). Maybe you will find a can of cookie dough hidden inside a slipper or an empty Coke can inside the pocket of a shirt you was thinking about buying (now that was just laziness). Or even a baggy holding a questionable green substance in the parking lot (I’m pretty sure we both know what that probably was). Perhaps you will even come across the same thing I did last night: Tablet cases with penises “drawn” on them.


I actually didn’t notice the penis-covered cases until I heard two girls laughing nearby, saying, “Oh my God, only at Walmart!” I was nosy curious when I heard that, so I walked towards the direction of the endless giggling. It went like this:

Girl 1, cackling away: Oh my God, only at Walmart!

Girl 2, almost in tears: I love this city!

Me: *creeps nearby to see what the commotion was about*

Girl 1: Wait, let’s take selfies with it!

Girl 2: Good idea– hold on, this one looks weird. Let me fix it.


Girl 2, after fixing the deformed penis and taking selfies: I wonder who did it– *notices me* I didn’t do it, I swear!

Girl 1: *CREASING*

Girl 2, crying from laughing so hard: I swear I didn’t!

We might not have spoken or became best friends, but there is no doubt that the three of us bonded over those penis-covered tablets for a moment, and that is something I will always cherish. In the meantime, after the girls had left and my mom finished talking to a customer, I pulled her aside and, in the most dignified voice I could muster while trying to keep a straight face, said, “As a concerned citizen, I have something to show you.”

I walked her to the area with the penis-covered tablets – partly because I knew someone would eventually come and complain and partly because I knew her reaction would be hilarious – and didn’t even have to point them out. The first words out of her mouth? “GOOD GOD, PEOPLE. WHY WOULD ANYONE DO THIS– I bet it was [friend].” While it could have been anyone, I wouldn’t have put it past her friend to do that. Or the other employees who OBVIOUSLY SAW THE PENISES ON THE TABLET COVERS AND IGNORED THEM AS THEY WALKED BY. Or anyone in the entire city because we’re all kind of goofy and immature, but in a good way (mostly).

Alas, the penises were removed, but the true question is for how long? I will be sure to keep you all posted on if I see them back or not.

My next stop was the toys department – it wasn’t going to be my next stop until my mom walked by with a cart full of huge Nerf guns that someone had left laying around here and there in electronics. Suddenly I needed one. Why? Because you can’t call yourself an adult unless you have a giant Nerf gun just in case there is ever a Nerf war or if zombies rose from the ground and were weak enough to be killed (again) by Nerf darts. That’s just commonsense.

I didn’t end up getting one, but I seriously thought about it. And it’s the thought that counts, right? Or does that only apply to greeting cards and gifts? Either way, I thought about it. And I picked up a few that I am still thinking about getting (ANOTHER ADVENTURE, WOO). Did you know that they all have a warning label that says to not look in the blaster? What do they even plan to accomplish by that? It was literally the first thing I did after I read the label. And I probably wouldn’t have if not for the warning label. NOT SO SMART, ARE YOU? (Says the girl who literally looked into the blaster after the warning label said not to. What can I say? I’m a rebel.)

I probably spent most of my time on this adventure in the arts & crafts section. I have been feeling rather crafty lately, so I probably went in and out of the coloring aisle a dozen times while looking for a colored pencil sharpener and maybe some new colored pencils to color You Are Here with. Did I get the pencil sharpener? Yes, and it was great until it screwed up my pink colored pencil.

We don’t talk about Pinkie anymore… And yes, that is the cover to an Attack on Titan coloring book.

However, out of the arts & crafts section, much more than the coloring aisle, I spent most of my time in the journal and notebooks aisle. For some reason I just love getting new journals and notebooks, but I almost never use them. Seriously. I have about 14 of them in my room that have never been touched. Why? Because I don’t know what to put in them. I don’t want to just use them for Math scribbles or to write down random things like phone numbers or confirmation numbers. That’s what my phone and tablet is for. I want to write stories and even about really personal things. Writing is the one way I can open my heart without fears or worries. It’s the only way I really let all of my feelings and thoughts out. Sometimes it’s just through characters, acting out how I feel (but in totally different scenarios). Sometimes I just literally write down how I feel or things that have happened. By writing down, I mean typed. But lately I have really wanted to push pen-to-paper and write out both of these things. And I think that is something I am going to start doing from now on. So I got one last notebook and some pencils (they have cute foxes and owls and raccoons on them!) to write with, and that is exactly what I am going to do.

I chose one with an anchor on it. I will use it either for personal works or writing out fanfiction (the ship sails itself! Get it??) or write about myself like the narcissistic bitch I apparently am. (It fits because sometimes I feel anchored down. PUNS.)

My last stop before checking out was the trading card aisle because my brother wanted me to look for WWE dog tags. Spoiler alert: There wasn’t any. I did, however, find candy. And this time it wasn’t Pez in collectible containers.

Oh, look, chocolate with a toy inside. NICE TRY. This does not make up for the US not allowing Kinder Eggs.

What will happen on my next adventure? Who knows. I don’t* even know when my next adventure will be.


* I lied. My next adventure will be tonight when I go out to watch Beauty and the Beast. But I probably won’t write about it unless something happens that can top penis-covered tablet cases. And honestly? That’s pretty hard to beat.


Broken deodorant, painted genitals, and meeting Jenny Lawson.

Broken deodorant, painted genitals, and meeting Jenny Lawson.

Not that I really technically met her – I just went to her book signing (is it bad that this is the part I chose to explain first?) in Louisville a few days ago. It was amazing (seeing Jenny, that is, because the rest of the night sucked cacti), and now I get to tell you all about my day.

It all starts with my deodorant breaking off mid-use and landing on the shirt I was going to wear. If anything were to indicate that my day would be a doozy, it would probably be that. Also, I learned that it does not show up clear on black clothing, so now I have an excuse to try a different brand of deodorant (because the fact that it broke off in the first place even though it was brand new wasn’t a good enough reason).

Then I forgot my earphones before I went out, which meant I couldn’t shamelessly listen to my favorite songs while I picked up dinner for everyone because it’s seen as “uncivilized” and “rude” to play Panic! At the Disco’s Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time or Britney Spears’s Make Me on my phone while shopping (okay, I guess I can understand why that would be a problem, you party poopers). Usually I get upset when I forget my earphones because they’re like a fortress of solitude while I’m shopping – some may call it a security blanket for introverted people/people with anxiety, and they wouldn’t be wrong – but not this time. If I had remembered my earphones, I wouldn’t have heard this gem at the check-out lane:

*Venus by Bananarama starts playing*

Guy 1: *starts singing along*

Guy 2: *hums while Guy 1 sings*

Guy 3: *ignoring the other two* You know, I use to work around here. I was the guy who went to all the stores and changed the magazines every week.

Guy 4: Uh-huh. … Man, this song reminds me of shampoo.

Guys 1 and 2: *having their own mini concert*

Guy 3: Shampoo? Yeah, I guess it was in some shampoo commercial.

Guy 5: *cuts line to get with the other four guys* Hey! This song is amazing.

Meanwhile I didn’t have the heart to tell them that it was actually used for a women’s razor commercial… But who am I to stop a brotastic concert and other guys thinking about shampoo?

That was probably one of the highlights of my day, but it was short-lived after we dropped off the food and the long drive to Louisville began. Imagine, if you will, being in a car with your mother for about three or so hours while she starts mentioning painful moments of your childhood. Yeah, no, no, nope. There are some things that should not be discussed on a long car ride, and painful childhood memories are one of them. If that wasn’t enough, there was a moment when I had a stomach cramp and panicked that my monthly monster was arriving. While we were driving in the middle of nowhere. You could imagine the thoughts running through my head, but the most prominent one was, “I swear to God, I will never forgive my vagina if it does this.” Thankfully it was just from where I hadn’t eaten in a while.

Soon enough we were almost at the Gallery (though I guess it wasn’t really soon enough, was it?) so I could have a moment to recharge and relax alone for a moment. Yeah, that was short-lived, too, but I would rather not talk about it here.

Finally, we arrived at the Tim Faulkner Gallery! And there was no place to park so I had to walk through what is considered a shady area alone as it snowed. I froze my boobs off, but it was worth it because the room for the book signing was unlike any place I have been.

Yes, that is a giant spider wrapped in a colorful strand of lights.

The whole place was full of art. Statues, paintings hanging on the walls, paintings on the walls. For $350, you could get a painting of a blue demon guy with his “little man” dangling about (because it’s not really porn if you call it art) or a painting of a naked woman looking away (she looked distressed, but wouldn’t you be if you were naked). I guess I should have put “genital paintings” instead of painted genitals, because now that I read that again…

Also, for $7,500, you can purchase a huge mural of Obama. And yes, I probably would get something like that. I miss the Obama family.

The room even had a bar in it. I’m still kicking myself in the butt for not finding out what’s in the “Even More Jesus” and not trying the peach vodka cocktail.

For a group of people who, most of which, would probably rather be at home hiding under their blankets, the room was full of chatter and good vibes. Strangers rejoiced, friendships were made, and awkward moments happened. Or maybe the last part was just me, because I certainly managed to embarrass myself. I had gotten up from my seat for a moment to get something only to find someone else’s copy of Furiously Happy in my seat. I wasn’t sure who’s it was, so I started to ask a girl behind the seat if she saw who left it so I could return it to them. Then it happened. I realized she wasn’t the girl who was sitting behind me before I got up. In fact, that wasn’t even my seat. The chair I was sitting in was actually a few rows up. DOY. Suddenly I understood why the girl a few seats down from where I was standing was looking at me like I had two heads. And now that I read this, I feel like you guys might get the vibe that I’m like Sheldon Cooper when it comes to seats…

I’m honestly not. If the thought had occurred, I would have just moved to a different seat because now I realize how much more awkward it could have been.

I finally felt at ease when Jenny Lawson took the stage and started speaking. That was when everyone got excited, happy, and even a little quiet, all at the same time. You know it’s going to be amazing when the first words out of someone’s mouth is, “Holy shit, guys.”

Either Jenny was glowing so much that she lost her face or my phone’s camera sucks.

I was instantly cheered up. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I got to see one of my favorite authors, who is also one of my greatest inspirations to start blogging, in person. Other than AkaiCon, I never really get to have moments like this so it was a huge deal to me. What made it even better was how funny and sweet she was. The whole room would respectfully go silent as she spoke, but whenever she finished a joke the room was full of laughter and clapping. It was amazing, and I really needed those laughs.

After starting off and thanking the Tim Faulkner Gallery and Carmichael’s Bookstore for hosting and setting up the event, Jenny started reading to us pages from her new book You Are Here: An Owner’s Manual for Dangerous Minds. It was whimsically hilarious and insightful. As she read it and explained why she made it, I realized it was something I needed. And this time I’m not just saying that like the times I say I need white chocolate Reese Cups.

Finally, an owner’s manual for my dangerous mind. Where has it been all my life?!

While Jenny first started telling us about You Are Here on her blog, she would write about how she has/had been in a long depression. It was a time when I noticed more and more people online and around me’s depression showing. It was a time when I, too, had fallen in a long depression. Between that and everything in the world going on at once, I felt like I just needed to breath and hide away from the world, and I did by shutting everyone out. I didn’t open up about it or talk to anyone about it – I didn’t want anyone to know. I think almost no one at the time knew how I was feeling because I kept it to myself while I kept to myself.  Which was hard to do when one person says, “You have the saddest eyes I have ever seen,” and when your own mother asks if you’re depressed. But instead of admitting to it and opening up, I did what I always do when I’m on the spot and feeling a rush of nervousness and anxiousness mixed together: I erratically made jokes and played it off, then I changed the subject to something ridiculous, like asking why old guys like golf or explaining the difference between anime and cartoons.

Let’s call it the “Chandler Bing Effect.”

This was something that lasted for several months, and sometimes it still rears its ugly head my way. But not as often or as much as it did last year. In fact, I would like to think that it’s finally starting to go away now (and by now, I mean for now because this shit never really goes away). It was a long and difficult time, which is why I needed You Are Here. Because I was there then, and I am here now, and I need to remind myself of that. It might just be a coloring book, but it’s also a book full of moments that a lot of us have unknowingly experienced together (well, maybe at different times) whenever we were having a hard time or when our brains felt busted (maybe not literally busted, ouch).

And so I bought it. And even got it signed, so now I can fangirl while I color. Thanks, Jenny.

After Jenny read the pages and the footnote (if you ask me all coloring books deserve at least one footnote), she did a Q&A with us. We learned that, yes, she finally got her bag of drugs from the police. And that Wil Wheaton is still collating. She also tried the “Hot Brown.” (IT’S A SANDWICH AND NOTHING LIKE THE CLEVELAND STEAMER WHICH WAS WHAT SHE SAID THE NAME HAD REMINDED HER OF. Then she told us not to look it up and like a rebel I did it anyways. WHAT THE HELL.) She even gave us some advice on writing and recommended that we listen to the song Die, Vampire, Die! which was nothing that I expected it to be, but still awesome.

All in all, it was a fun event that I am glad to have attended. The place was interesting, Jenny was amazing, and now I have a new coloring book that I’m in love with. The rest of the night might have been full of arguing and hatefulness at home, but at least there was a moment when everything was okay, and I’ll take it. Everything is calm now, though that doesn’t make it okay. So, for now and until things happen, I will color.

“The night is sharp and jagged. It will not last. Never doubt the morning comes.”
“Sometimes I have to remind myself that even when the walls feel as if they are closing in on me I can always look up at the sky and see infinity stretching out before me.”
“A damaged heart is far better than an empty one. It’s true that love can break your heart. But so, too, can too much cheese. And life is not worth living without tasting love. Or cheese. So protect your heart, but not too much. I keep you locked safe inside. You are here.”

I will color my thoughts, my anxiety, my depression, my feelings, my fears, my joy, my pain, my wanders, and everything in-between. Here are the ones I have finished already. They’re messy and far from perfect (in the pictures they may look okay, but in reality they are all out of the lines and full of smudges), but I’m happy with how they turned out. I seriously recommend getting this book, especially if you have a dangerous mind.

I wanted to throw in a picture of Boo from last night. We were watching Finding Dory (IT WAS SO GOOD) and she was snuggled up to my fuzzy socks.


You know those games of tag that we all played when we were little? Why do we stop doing that as we grew up? That game was amazing, especially if you were faster than your opponents. Speaking of playing tag, my blogging buddy (hey, Katie, we totally need matching temporary tattoos of the words “Blogging Buddies”) Carrots in My Carryon tagged me with a game of #MyFirstPostRevisted.

It’s actually very simple: those who are tagged are given the task of reposting their FIRST blog post ever. There’s also some other rules:


Obvious rules:

  • No cheating. (It must be your first post. Not your second post, not one you love…first post only.)
  • Link back to the person who tagged you (thank them if you feel like it or, if not, curse them with a plague of ladybugs).

Other rules:

  • Copy and paste your old post into a new post or reblog your own bad self. (Either way is fine but NO editing.) 
  • Put the hashtag #MyFirstPostRevisited in your title. 
  • Tag five other bloggers to take up this challenge. 
  • Notify your tags in the comment section of their blog
  • Feel free to cut and paste the badge to use in your post.
  • Include the rules in your post.
Did anyone else think of the rule book from Fairly Odd Parents or is my age and love of cartoons showing again?

See? Nothing too major. I totally have this down. There is no way I could screw this up (here’s hoping). Now I should probably get to it… Oh God. I’m nervous now. You guys are going to read a post from when my blog was a fetus.

Birthday Blog!

Hi everyone!

So today was my 21st birthday. Well, yesterday technically. But still, isn’t that exciting? Usually when people (in the US) turn 21 they celebrate by joining friends at a bar or club and getting wasted. I celebrated it by eating ice cream cake, ordering cheesy bread from Domino’s, and starting my own blog. This might seem kind of dull to a bunch of you, but for my introverted self this was the perfect way to celebrate such an occasion. Well, I would not have minded getting a little tipsy, but now that I am 21 I can do that another day. Yay.

Why gift myself this blog? Well, the truth is that I have been thinking about doing this for a while now. I just wanted to put it off until my birthday so I might have something interesting to write about. Which, I almost launched this blog earlier this month while I was participating in GISHWHES. It was a strange experience, but a wonderful one as well. And even though I was very tempted to start this blog exactly 8 minutes and 34 seconds (as stated in the “GISHWHES Commandments“) after the Hunt ended, I decided to just keep waiting as planned. That did not stop me from writing about my experience with the Hunt, which you can find here.

On my 20th birthday, I decided to start a diary to write about all of my 20-something experiences and memories. And when that went down the toilet, I started a new one on New Year’s Day of this year for pretty much the same reason. It also included a list of resolutions that I swore I would complete. Did I actually complete anything on my resolution list? Nope. And I can live with knowing that quite fine, thank you very much.

Anyways, I decided to start this for a lot of the same reason that I started those diaries. Except this will be a lot less personal and more of just me talking about random crap that no one really cares for. Maybe some of you will relate to what I talk about and want to keep reading it. Or maybe you will just be curious and stumble upon my blog whilst browsing through the Internet abyss. For whatever reason, thanks for checking it out. I promise it will get better. Or worst. Let’s just hope that I actually keep up with this though. If not, feel free to challenge me to a water balloon fight until I drag myself out of bed to update this.

Oh, and I know that this title is kind of lame. Sorry about that. It actually took me about 30 minutes to come up with it. And as I have written this, my indecisiveness is making me want to change it to something a little more interesting and witty. But at the same time I am getting pretty sleepy and my brain is not ready for that kind of pressure right now.

I guess I should hit the sack right now. Actually, why do they call it that? I don’t want to hit my bed. I want to dive in it and get lost in the covers. Shame on whoever is hitting their beds.

Good night everyone!

You can follow me on Twitter and check out my articles on Nerds and Beyond.

Well, that wasn’t so bad. I expected my first post to be a lot more cringe-worthy, but I guess I should give it time to embarrass me considering I only started writing here less than a year ago. Give it another year and me some more blogging experience and then I can gush about how awkward my posts were/are.

Fun Fact time!

I actually started this blog because a girl I was really into had suggested that I start one about my dreams (suddenly I sound like a generic teenage boy trying to impress the ladies, ha) and because I had started following Jenny Lawson’s blog (I got to meet her a few days ago and I will tell y’all about that later!), which inspired me to start planning out a blog of my own. I spent nearly six months deciding on a domain name, what content I would write about, etc. I still have the outline of things I wanted to write about and what day I was going to post it (none of which I even followed) saved on my computer. Yeah, I am a much more serious planner than blogger.

Tag, you’re it!

Have a Luke

Alex Tries the Thing

The Caffeinated Writer



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