Longest Blogging Break Ever


Yearly blogging break does not mean take a year off of blogging does it? Oops…

I know, I know. Blogging 101 says that you should be consistent. That a successful blog should at least write once a week. I was doing ok for a while, but then I wasn’t. It has been a weird year, a year where I questioned a lot of stuff in my life. Like what direction I was headed as a writer, or whatever you want to call me. The most annoying thing about myself is my tendency to beat myself up and second-guess every decision. I could make a career out of doing that, an official second-guesser. Is that a thing?  Well, it should be because I would be awesome and get lots of awards from the award giving people.


I started this blog as a therapeutic way to rehash some of my most awkward moments. I am still awkward as hell. It is one thing that hasn’t changed even though I am vastly approaching my third decade on this planet. I always thought my awkwardness would fade when I became an official adult.  All this adulting has done nothing for my unbearably awkward syndrome (its a condition, look it up).

Just the other day, I fell near the entrance of a local grocery store. Who falls trying to complete a simple task like grabbing a shopping cart? Me. That’s who. Did I mention it was in front of several people? One of which was a tiny older woman, who squealed when I flew backwards. Her yelp created an even larger audience to see the aftermath of my fight with Gravity. What a b word. Gravity, not the little old lady.

I don’t even know if I have an audience on this blog anymore.  I have possible lost the five or so followers I had.  Who cares. Its nice to be back.

The Elevator Game


At least twice a year, my parents would brave the turbulent mountain pass between Montana and Washington to drive me to doctor appointments at a non-profit Children’s Hospital in Spokane. I was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy as baby, and with my parents struggling to pay bills; the hospital had become a blessing.

As an adult now, I realize how it must have been quite the hassle to take the only two days off you have from working full-time jobs to pack up both your children to drive two states away for an appointment that usually only lasts an hour or so. My parents made the best out of it, treating the trips as mini-vacations. My favorite thing about travelling was counting all of the things Spokane had compared to our little town. Not only did they have a mall with four different floors, but also there was TWO OF THEM! They had all the restaurants we saw in commercials when watching cable television, even that one that famously served unlimited buttery pieces of bread in stick form.

During one trip, the hospital had made a reservation at a motel that was as big as the Sears Tower (in my ten year old eyes).  When we walked the through the lobby to get to our rooms, we were faced with a large pool, the motel rooms seemingly built around it. The most mesmerizing thing was the lack of roof above the pool. It was the coolest thing my older brother Brandon and I had ever seen. My parents were not as impressed; not understanding the choice of architecture in a place that regularly snows in winter. My father called after us, as they waited for the elevator doors to open. No doubt I was easily amused, now turning my attention on the shiny silver elevator with ALL THOSE BUTTONS! I wanted to continue to ride it to the very top, but was disappointed when my parents stepped out at the twelfth floor. Later with my belly full of pizza, I fell asleep to the sounds of my family playing their usual dice game as the local news report blared in the background.

I awoke up in the middle of the night to find my Mom and Dad passed out in the bed next to me. My dad’s abnormally loud snoring kept me from drifting back to sleep.  My brother still awake, sat on the floor watching some old movie with talking monkeys who dressed like humans. I moved my way down to the edge of the bed only for him to ask “What are you doing up?” I shrugged my shoulders and simply said, “Dad.” He chuckled and returned his attention to the TV. After a couple of minutes of watching and not understanding my brother’s choice in movies, I whined that I was bored and wanted to go ride the elevators. (As if it was some sort of amusement park attraction.) Brandon, who was supposed to be the more rational one (being a whole three years old), agreed to take me, but only on the condition that I listen to him.

We fumbled to find our shoes in the darkness, attempting to be as stealthy as children could be. Outside the florescent lights above the room doors made it seem like it was still daytime. We ran towards the shiny elevator doors, free from our parents, free from the world.

We rode up and down the elevator for what seemed like hours, stepping out at each new floor, only to jump back in before the doors closed. Eventually the excitement started to fade. At the fifth floor, my brother decided it would be hilarious to leave me. A wave a panic hit when the doors closed before I could get in, the doors quickly opened again to reveal my brother practically on the floor from laughing so much. I shed a tear, mostly to make him feel bad. It didn’t work.

On a whim, he decided press the “L2” button, which lead to a level below where the pool and front desk were located. It was darker then the other floors, my brother slowly stepped out and turned the corner while I didn’t dare leave the brightly lit elevator. Instead, an idea flooded my head. I took a breath and mustered enough courage to seek my revenge. The doors closed before he could get back in, and I rode the elevator alone to the pool level. That’s what you get for messing with me, I thought to myself.

My brother must of hit the up button on his floor because the elevator started to make its way back down without any help from me. At the last minute, I decided I would pop out when the doors opened and scare him. I thought if I was successful in scaring him, it would make him think twice before messing with me again. As the doors slowly pushed open, I jumped out towards the middle of the elevator and let out a huge growl. Only the person waiting was not my brother, but a youngish looking man with a scraggly beard and a basket full of clothes. He let out a strange noise, but started to chuckle when he realized he was startled by a small child. I quickly retreated to the farthest corner away from the stranger and refused to make eye contact, looking down at my feet until we had reached his floor.

After the scraggly beard man left, tears started to flood my eyes as the elevator started to move on its own once again. I worried about where Brandon went. I wondered if there were more people down on “L2” and if they had decided to hold my brother hostage. The doors opened at the pool level, but there was no one there. I stepped out onto the silent floor with only my left foot. I felt a hand on my shoulder and quickly jumped back into the elevator.  I heard the sound of a familiar voice calling my name before the doors closed again.

After opening the doors once again to retrieve my brother, we decided to end our elevator adventure. Back on our floor, we spot our Dad, half awake, leaning against the metal rails in front of our room. As we made our way towards him, I knew our fun was over for the night. My dad, giving his best stern look, shock his head and said, “I hope you had fun because when I tell Mom tomorrow, the rest of this trip is going to be anything but.”

Never trust a six year old.


I wrote this for one of my classes, but thought it would be a good addition to the blog.  Hope you enjoy! : )

I am six years old and don’t need my parent’s help during bath time. Mom comes by to stick her hand underneath the faucet every so often. She mutters “too hot” and turns the nob slightly to the left. On her last stop, the water has reached past my belly button, so she turns the nob all the way, making my Barbie’s waterfall vanish. I assure her that I am ok and she starts to close the door, leaving it open just a crack. I can reenact the best scene of my favorite movie, The Little Mermaid. Like Ariel, my arms and legs are covered in big soapy bubbles. I cup a big cloud in my hands and let out a great gust as the tiny suds lightly scatter in front of me.

Next, I grab the bar of blue soap and plunge it in the water, quickly putting it back, slightly moved, so it looks like it has been used. I save the best for last, practicing my amateur gymnastic moves using the wide edge of the bathtub as the balance beam. I saw the USA Women’s team gracefully leap around on one during the Summer Olympics. BAM! I am up there only for a matter of seconds when my wet foot slips off the beam. My chin catches my fall on the edge of the tub, and it won’t stop throbbing, but I don’t dare call for Mom, who is watching TV with Dad in the living room.

I wrap the nearest towel around my shoulders and unplug the tub. Mom will be so proud that I did it all by myself. I head towards her smiling, but a little sore with my hairbrush in hand and some hair ties so she can braid my hair. When Mom and Dad see me, they both let out a screech. I look down to see what they are yelling about; a thin stream of red runs down my chest.

A late night emergency room visit and six stiches later, Mom tells me the bad news. It may be a long time before I get to take another bath by myself.

As an added bonus to celebrate SNL 40 Anniversary special, enjoy one of my favorite SNL characters ever. If you are thinking this is a random addition, well there is a bathtub in it.  SO THERE.

Watch Simon: Christmas Drawings with Vinnie

Review: ‘The Walking Dead’ Episode 5.9 “ What Happened and What’s Going On”


I wrote this…so…yeah…

Outright Geekery

**Spoiler Alert** If you haven’t seen Sunday’s episode of The Walking Dead, than you probably already know what happened. The Internet is a big old gossip.

The world can rejoice because our beloved show is back and they didn’t spare any time in breaking our hearts once again. If you are an avid reader of TV news then you may have read the numerous teasers about what lied ahead for the group. It really isn’t anything new; destruction and devastation all around! Judging by the first episode back from winter break, the group is headed to a dark place (mentally, maybe even physically.) Things are looking bleak, again. Which, of course, leads to some of the greatest moments in the show’s history. So, let’s get started and recap the wreckage from Sunday’s episode.

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When the “love of your life” is just the worst…


mostly because he is an a**hole.

Everything was changing.  It was like my body was a stranger that I had to awkwardly face every day.  When did I get boobs?  They seemingly grew overnight from an A cup to a C.  My thighs went from stick thin to curvy; I had to abandon my favorite pair of jeans after that.  The only thing that seemed to stick was the pudginess around my stomach that my Mom lovingly called “baby fat.”  She would constantly remind me that I would be stuck with that fat for a while.  It was part of a “Thomas Women” curse.   Apparently all of my changes were similar to my mother’s side.  “We are just built that way,” my mother pointed out. It seemed so unfair that some girls were lucky enough to have those boyish thin figures while my body couldn’t decide what it had.  I wasn’t classically curvy, not plus size, but not thin. I was completely average and at the time I thought it was the worst thing I could be.

 By the time I reached eighth grade I had gotten used to my chest size, my thighs, and my “baby fat.”  At that point, being invisible had its perks.  There was a still a small part of me that wanted every boy to notice me like they did Denise Dalton*.  The queen bee, who at one point a long time ago (We’re talking 5th grade), was my best friend.   Puberty had done her way too many favors, which apparently left the rest of the girls in my grade with nothing. There were girls who were even more awkward then I was (which is saying a hell of a lot.) Their bodies had betrayed them way worse than mine ever could. These girls would get noticed by boys too, but were ridiculed for their “imperfections.” I thought myself lucky, that I was practically invisible to that kind of public shaming.

 It was almost Spring of my eighth grade year and I was in a good place.  I had stop being so boy crazy due to recent events that proved that I was not equipped to handle a boyfriend.  Sure, I still had crushes.  My hormones proved to be stronger then my brain in these cases. Jack* had, of course, broken up with my good friend Jenny* and had moved on to several other girls.  His latest victim was Janet*, a newer classmate who had become an acquaintance to my small group of friends.  He had broken her heart and she was less than thrilled with it.

 Over their two-week courtship, Jack had done a lot of talking.  Spilling secrets to her about his previous girlfriends.  Janet in an act of revenge, held nothing back, telling every girl how Jack felt about her.  How April*, his first girlfriend, was a stuck up prude.  Or even how much Breanna Morris* wasn’t. They were all reasons why he eventually broke up with them.  Sometimes even for ridiculous reasons like, Kayla’s (the curvy seventh grader) hairy man arms.  The insults didn’t stop at just his girlfriends. He even went into reasons why he didn’t date certain girls.  Starting with his number one fan, me.

 It was bad news, when Janet came strolling by my table at lunch.  The look of concern had taken over her usual smile, like she was going to tell me that my dog had died. She sat down, unraveling a story that would change me forever.  She started with the fact that she thought I was one of prettiest and nicest girls at this school.  (I was one of the first to talk to her when she moved mid school year.) One day she had asked Jack why he had never went out with me, she of course, hearing the rumor that I was deeply in love with him. He replied with,  “I guess she is pretty, but she kind of has a beer belly.” It took a second for my brain to comprehend what was said.  A beer belly?  A BEER BELLY?  I knew what it meant, even though, at the ripe age of thirteen, my “baby fat” did not come from having one too many.

 After hearing those words, I was crushed.  My best friend Anna* went into a full rage. She knew how much I pictured Jack as a perfect specimen.  How, even though he had crushed by heart repeatedly, I had never given up on him. I had to practically pin her down from going over and clawing out his eyes in the middle of the lunchroom.  Janet hugged me and apologized, saying he was dead wrong about me.  She quickly left the table, continuing her campaign to killing Jack’s reputation.

 The rest of the day, I obsessed over those words.  I went from blaming him to even blaming myself for being so imperfect. Being comfortable with my body was no longer an option.  I knew that it was only a matter of time before the whole school saw me as “beer belly girl.”  After that I spent a good year and half trying my best to lose weight. Jack’s words echoing in my head with every sit-up I attempted.  During class, I would wrap a sweater around my stomach hoping that it would make it seem smaller.  I was still invisible, but no longer content with what I saw in the mirror.

 Those words festered into my mind and I still haven’t been able to completely wipe them out. They sometimes return to taunt me whenever I eat something unhealthy or if my jeans have become a bit too tight.  Even after so much time, the whole situation changed how I looked at my body.  It confirmed the bad things I thought about myself, because I knew I wasn’t the only one who noticed them.  I think back and see this moment as the day that created my low-self esteem and it is hard to get rid of.  I spent half my life striving to be perfect, only to realize that I have wasted a lot of time caring about what others thought.

 It shouldn’t be a surprise that I finally gave up on Jack.  I thought I loved him, but he continually crushed my heart. Now as a grown woman, I look back and have learned a valuable lesson.  I shouldn’t let anyone make me feel like I am not good enough.  I shouldn’t waste my time on a “dream guy” who doesn’t think of me as his “dream girl”.  A guy who doesn’t even care about the consequences of his actions. Who doesn’t care about hurting the only girl who thought he was perfect.


*Names have been changed because the real names don’t matter.

The Invisible Sister Gets Her First Stalker


…and awkwardly deals with it. 

At the age of thirteen, I was convinced that I wasn’t pretty and that was the only reason boys didn’t like me. Obsessing over the fact that I wasn’t as skinny as the more popular girls or that my mom didn’t let me wear as much make up. Junior high can be hell when you live to impress your peers. It wasn’t until a mysterious high school freshman took notice of me that I realized that the boys in my grade might take my complete awkwardness into consideration.

Going to a K-12 school is an interesting experience. It is a strange environment that produces situations like third graders passing through a busy hallway, designated for high school seniors, on their way to recess. The section of the building reserved for junior high students was a little more secluded. Most of the older kids were strangers to me. My brother and his friends were all juniors, but they mostly ignored me if I passed them in the hallway. My brother was more popular than I was. So much, that most of the high school barely knew I existed. One day, during volleyball practice, I noticed two older boys hanging around. One of them, a boy with dark eyes and blonde buzz cut, kept staring at me. Him and his friend kept whispering back and forth, occasionally pointing at me and the other girls. My mind directly went to the fact that I wasn’t very athletic and he was probably trying to figure out how I made the team. They were certainly mocking me and I their presence distracted me. Eventually they left and I quickly forgot about them as I tried to focus on not sucking at volleyball.

“Tim Stockton* just winked at you!” Cas* giggled. It was a couple of days later and we were in the library doing research for history class. At the same time, a class of freshmen students was studying in the same area. That day, I learned that the mysterious boy’s name was Tim Stockton from my friend who just about everyone in our small school. I had caught him staring again and was trying my best to ignore it. My friend Cas noticed and decided to make fun of me for it. “He must totally like you!” she chuckled, as I tried to cover her mouth. She was not following the strict rules of the library, practically shouting for all to hear. Cas was dead wrong. There was no way that Tim liked me. Even if he did, I wasn’t so sure that I liked him. I barely knew who the kid was.

After school, Tim and his friend Bobby were back spectating the eighth grade girl’s volleyball practice. Every time I briefly glanced over at his direction, he greeted me with a wide, goofy smile. It made my stomach turn. Ok, maybe he did have a crush on me OR he was playing some sort of joke. I was just some random homely looking girl that he wanted to pull a prank on. Yeah, that seemed more reasonable. After practice, Cas and I waited in front of the school for our parents when Tim and Bobby walked by. “I just wanted to tell you, you are the most gorgeous girl I have ever seen!” Tim shouted in front of half my volleyball team. My face turned bright red. This amount of attention was too much. Instead of ignoring it, I giggled. I couldn’t stop giggling and couldn’t form a response back. The only thing I could think to do was turn around and face the brick wall I had been leaning on. Both the guys chuckled as they walked past. I stood frozen there for what seemed like hours before my dad’s car pulled up to save me. Cas and the rest of girls couldn’t hold in their laughter. I hopped into my dad’s car quickly realizing that if my parents let me, I would never go to school again.

The next few days, I saw Tim everywhere, he would smile or say something about how gorgeous I was. My reaction would always be turning bright red. From my response, Tim must have thought I liked the attention. In reality, I hated it. I just wanted it to stop. If it wasn’t Tim turning me bright red, my friends would, by poking fun at how I was too shy to talk to boys. Like they were any better. Eventually I got so sick of all of it that I avoided him, bracing every corner of the school as if I was stealthy ninja trying not be detected. When that didn’t work, I would just completely pretend like he wasn’t there. At times I felt bad, but at the same, it seemed like he enjoyed embarrassing me.

Over time, Tim Stockton was no longer a problem. I gladly returned to being that invisible girl that boys seemed to ignore. My friends never got why I didn’t just accept his praise because, to them, it could have lead to more.  Well, frankly, I didn’t want to be the girlfriend of a guy who gets off tormented girls into liking him.  I never really knew why he stopped seeking me out. Maybe he finally got the message that I didn’t like him.  Maybe he found some other girl to stalk. Or, Maybe he found out that I was the little sister of a very large and intimidating junior guy with angry issues.

Finally saying “Hi” to my brother in the crowded hallway, while Tim watched nearby, was a great plan.

The Junior High Relationship That Stood The Test Of…One Day.


If I could go back and slap myself in the eighth grade, I would, like more than once.

The second half of my eighth grade year started with me swearing off boys, especially ones named Jack*. I was a new me and I had pulled a Felicity to prove it. My once long thick hair was now cut to a simple bob. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to style it and half the time it looked like I was wearing some sort of helmet. Nonetheless, I felt pretty accomplished with my new look. I knew I had changed my feelings for Jack when one of my close friends, Jenny* started dating him after winter break.

It was new territory for me, finally not being jealous of one of Jack’s girlfriends. It made me feel like I had gotten over him. Once Jack and Jenny got together, I started to realize there were other boys at my school. The ones that I had been ignoring for months because I was preoccupied with being the president of Jack’s fan club. One in particular, Mike* had always hung around my group of friends because he had a similar undying crush on Dina*.

Dina was my next-door neighbor and on/off best friend. Our friendship could be rocky at times, but it was usually petty stuff that was quickly resolved within a day or two. One famously stupid fight was during a sleepover at my house years earlier. I had just discovered the greatness of No Doubt and was obsessed with listening to Tragic Kingdom over and over again. She found this boring (I don’t blame her) and quickly went back to her house. Sleep-OVER. I can’t even remember what she wanted to do, but it clearly wasn’t listening to the same CD on constant repeat. Dina wasn’t really interested in Mike’s funny charm and overall cuteness.

I started to have a crush on him soon after he started messaging me on AOL Instant Messenger (yup, you read that right). Before texting, AIMing, was made perfectly to chat with cute classmates and even total strangers. If there was one invention I loved more as an awkward pre-teen, it was AIM. I wasn’t my awkward stammering self around boys because I could actually think before I typed. They weren’t faced with my cheeks turning a bright shade of red in an attempt to make dreaded eye contact with them.  It was awesome, and my online persona was way more confident than the real me. One afternoon, Mike seemed to be typing in a more flirtatious manner. He talked about my “pretty eyes” and how he loved my new haircut. At the end of the conversation he asked me to be his girlfriend. Stunned, I quickly said yes. It was a dream come true or so I thought.

The next day at school, all my friends were excited to finally see me with a boyfriend. It had literally been years since I had one and it was quite possible that I knew even less about boys that I did in the sixth grade. At lunch, things got hard when people demanded that we do the same things that all couples do after eating. The typical couple embraced each other, with the boyfriend usually standing awkwardly behind the girlfriend holding on to her hips.

Not wanting to break some sort of junior high tradition, Mike and I cuddled for the most painful ten minutes ever. I could feel his warm breath near my ear, as he tried to carry on conversation. I stared straight ahead, panicked, as my friends observed us in our unnatural habitat. Who thought of this way of showing that you were boyfriend and girlfriend? What happened to good old holding hands? I felt trapped and actually couldn’t wait to go to history class after lunch. It was tough to say, but I still wasn’t ready for the pressures of having a boyfriend.

Right before last period, I had made a decision. The thought of having to participate in the rituals mirrored from the more popular crowd was not going to work for me. I couldn’t stand telling Mike to his face, so instead, begged my friend Cas* to deliver the bad news. She was a pretty frank person, she quickly told poor Mike that we were over. It seemed brutal, as she recounted the disappointment in his face during after-school volleyball practice. Our love lasted less than one day. It took awhile for me to even look Mike in the eyes after that. Eventually, we both moved on.

For months, all I wanted was a boyfriend. I flooded my journal with dreams and desires of finding the right guy, but in the end I wasn’t ready. Of course, I didn’t really learn my lesson from this and moved on to other crushes. Even returning to the worst one I could ever have because no matter what he did to hurt me, Jack was my end game. Yup, I was that stupid.