Bust Your Mutton

“Should’ve Been a Cowboy” – Toby Keith

Yes, really. Ok…well, maybe not a cowboy(*ahem* girl) but as a kid I would have loved me some mutton bustin’!

That dream was immediately killed when my friend informed me that the weight limit for racers is 55 lbs. and let’s face it…I surpassed that by the time I was 2. Yes, I actually am Italian. How did you know?

Listen, if you’d stop interrupting I could finish telling my story!

So, I learned yesterday that the art of “Mutton Busting” is when a child “securely” grasps the wool (fur? fluff? marshmallow fluff?) of a sheep and rides that animal until he or she rams (or sheeps) head-first into a flock of other confused and slightly scarred sheep. The rodeo clown then moon walks over to the child and makes him or her wave to the crowd to pretend there are no tears flowing from his or her face, and the parent quickly retrieves said child before the other parent notices and begins asking questions like:
“You let her ride a farm animal without any type of harness?”
“She crashed into what?”
“She broke her face?!”
“But did she win? Yeehaw!”

I should also add that the sheep are given dignified names like “Lambinator”, “Fleece Lightening”, “Lambo”, “Serta”, and “Dilly Dilly”.

However, the best part of it all is the way the children are introduced. Let me share a little snippet for you:
“This is Mirrrrrranda! Miranda wants to be a teacher and is 5 years old! Let’s see what Miranda can do!”
“Up next we have Aaaaaaalyssa! Alyssa wants to be a princess doctor! That’s great Alyssa! Can’t wait to see you making those princesses all better again!”
“Here we have Mmmmmarcus! Marcus loves hot dogs!”

Really Marcus? You could choose any career. Alyssa created a new career, for Pete’s sake! Alyssa is a freakin’ entrepreneur.  You couldn’t say professional hot dog eater? You just responded with a statement? Marcus… I’m slightly disappointed but honestly would love to just eat everyday as my career. You go Marcus. I think there’s a little bit of Marcus in all of us.

Also, announcer man, I see what you did there with the “Mmmmm”. Very clever. You missed your calling, man. 

Anyway, the moral of this anecdote is as follows: Kids wholeheartedly believe they can be anything they want and they should! This is the modern world and anything is possible. Ignore the cynics and regretful adults who never followed their passions. Don’t give up on your dreams, whether you want to be a princess doctor, a mutton buster, or just an honest hot dog eater. There is enough room under the sun for all of us to shine.

• Nobody

 

Don’t Deny It

Do you feel misunderstood by your significant other? Always wanted to unravel the inner workings of the opposite sex? Are you sick of feelings that your love interest is flawless? I am actually about to tell you everything you need to know about girls and guys. I will demystify their motives and secret activities for you. That’s right, everything. I have finally decided to share all of the many secrets I have discovered with the public and you will see that we are all slightly disturbed in some way. You’re welcome.

Guy Life:

The parameter for being a boy is pretty simple. Periodically check your teeth in butter knives. Pretend you have no emotions and maintain the degree of stoicism that can only be found in a photograph from the 1800s. Only watch chick flicks when no one is watching, but be savvy enough to add your opinion when your “sig fig” talks about her favorite one (which you have seen several times). Secretly care about your weight as much as girls and hide it. Pretend you are not as monogamous as you actually are. Also, secretly maintain the following hobbies: being a connoisseur of smelling your own farts, peeing into a water bottle when you are too lazy to get up from watching Netflix, and burping the alphabet.

That sounded sexist. Guys aren’t all that simple. Some can burp out full songs! Those boys grow up to be engineers.

Girl Life:

Much more complicated. Let’s begin with the female anatomy. To begin, women are beautiful hairless creatures that wake up without blemishes, morning breath, or dry skin. Girls do not fart, sweat, or excrete anything in any way. If you feel that any of these are about to occur, make sure that you prevent, stop, hide, cover up, or deny as much as you can. When using the restroom, make sure that the water is running. If you take longer than what you feel a normal amount of time is, make up a story about how you ran into a friend and you both had a long conversation about where you purchased your handbag. Never use the bathroom at a boyfriend’s or male friend’s house. When surrounded by close girlfriends, all of the above is permitted, without denial or apology.

When you are out with a boy, make sure that you never order any food that causes you to resemble a cave woman while eating it. This includes but is not limited to: tacos (the meat falls out the back…I call these “taco turds”), spaghetti (slurp!), salad (they never chop those leaves small enough), chicken wings, ribs, sushi (it won’t fit in your mouth, you’ll look like a chipmunk, and he’ll be waiting an hour for you to chew, swallow, and respond to his last question).

When you are with your girlfriends, make sure you take advantage of the fact that you are with your home girls and be sure to: order all of these items, eat with your hands, and talk with your mouth open. It ‘s sure to be exhilarating.

Girls are as lazy as your grandma’s mustache hairs are long. They will appear to be put together, when really they have probably been sleeping in their makeup, yoga pants, and same contacts for the past 9 (to 23) days. Right now, your girlfriend (hello only male reader!) is wearing leggings because she didn’t feel like shaving her legs (and the waist is stretchy!), closed toed shoes because her nails are not painted, and has probably not washed her hair since last month. Notice, as she walks away she will leave a trail of white powder. No, this is not magical fairy dust. She is a lazy female who has discovered the power of dry shampoo. Unless she is lazy AND cheap, in which case she really only used baby powder. Thought she was greying didn’t you!

When she is around her girlfriends, she is liberated from all social norms. She will brag about how long it’s been since she cleaned her room, shaved her legs, used a toothbrush, has eaten with utensils, has blown her nose on something other than her sleeve, or has used a real comb instead of a fork to brush her hair. These might be exaggerations, but you get the point.

Wonderful creatures. There really is nothin’ like a dame.

-Nobody

Put Down the Almond Butter

“Sign, sign, everywhere a sign. Blockin’ out the scenery, breakin’ my mind.” – The 5 Man Electrical Band

Driving downtown today I had a revelation. I am broke.

I’m not broke because I don’t make a sufficient living (although if my boss is reading this right now, I would like to state for the record that I am not opposed to a raise).

I believe the main reason is that I put 20% of my income towards student loans, and also, apartment life is not cheap.

The OTHER reason is that when it comes to buying things that I need, I will almost ALWAYS reach for the more creatively packaged item, which is usually the first item I see and always the most expensive item.

Example of my usual thought process:
“Ooooo! Almond butter! I think I need almond butter? Wow. Almond butter is expensive. Why am I always shocked at how expensive it is? Hmm. This one is $5.99….but that jar is so ugly. Do I really want to start my morning reaching for an ugly jar of almond butter? That will likely ruin my entire morning. Ooooo! This one is blue and has a cuter font! What is that? A squirrel? It has its own almond butter mascot?! What kind of human says no to that! Well, it’s already expensive. What’s another $30 dollars tacked on? I’ll buy you, little overpriced squirrel!”

If I had a had a nickel for every time I did this…well…it’s possible that I would no longer be broke.

Marketing strategies such as psychological pricing (aka “charm pricing”) actually still work, despite how “aware” of these retail schemes you claim to be.

Really, we’re not that clever. Go ahead, Google it.

Instead of seeing every intriguing and carefully crafted advertisement as a option for treating myself, my new approach is much more cynical. I will view these tactics as ways to “win” the competition for my paycheck. Think about it – everybody out there is trying to convince you to give them your money while making you think that it was YOUR idea in the first place! I’m a competitive person and refuse to lose, even this capitalistic battle!

I vow today to never again purchase products like overpriced cleaning products! Unless  they have a fruity scent. Or foam. Or feature a smiling squirrel. Or are from Target.

-Nobody

 

Give Me More

“I can’t get no satisfaction” – Rolling Stones

I have an issue with wanting more. I call it an issue because this is what we tend to call the problems and matters that we can’t easily fix. In all honesty, I’m not sure if it’s an issue or a God-given thorn in my side to do more in life.

I recently found a reflection I wrote to myself in college. I talked about how I had this constant fear of realizing my potential because I knew that after realizing it, I would forever be burdened with living up to it. I would never be satisfied until I did.

Backtrack to preschool: In preschool, at a small private school in Michigan we were all about to be separated into two groups: those that would move on to kindergarten and those that would stay behind. In order to prepare the soon-to-be kindergartners for their big transition year, they were given the task of creating an “Alphabet Book”. Because of my December birthday, I was not given this assignment and would be in preschool another year along with the rest of my classmates who would I would share classes with until 8th grade.

I was outraged.

I complained to my mom. I wanted her to talk to the teacher for me. I created a PowerPoint presentation and called for a meeting with the school board. Ok, no I didn’t…but I was pretty peeved.

First grade: The running joke with my mother and first grade teacher (up until I graduated from 8th grade) was that I had asked my teacher when she would be giving homework. Because, as you know, first grade just isn’t challenging enough and we should really throw in some persuasive essays and Precal lessons. Needless to say, I received a pat on the head and a blank page to color.

Second grade: In Michigan, it gets pretty cold. I mean, REALLY cold. You would think that recess didn’t exist during these winter months, but it did. And getting ready for recess was a friggin’ process. Snow pants, boots, jacket, mittens (or gloves for optimal snow fort building), ear muffs, hat, scarf….adjust articles of clothing so that you regain full range of motion and leave the school looking less like the little brother from the movie, A Christmas Story….done! There’s a reason why I now live in Houston.
One fine day, I gathered a group of friends together to conspire against this horrible ritual. We decided that we were going to write a book, The Shoe Book (creative, I know). We convinced the teacher that we would need every recess period to work on this. She either found this adorable or simply didn’t feel like arguing with us. Either way, we felt pretty victorious. So there you go – my first book ever written AND the first time I got to enjoy bossing my friends around. I was living life.

Third grade: While others were playing “house” or tag” I was forcing my friends to play “fun” games I created named: “Standard Federal Bank” (the precursor to Bank of America), “Assembly Line”, and “Office Meeting”. Most of these games involved using my date stamper, putting things in envelopes, and seeing how fast we could write our signatures. To my friends, this just felt like more homework. It was. I’m sorry for yelling at you for not highlighting random words fast enough.

Fourth through sixth grade I would laminate the Bible verses we had to memorize for class and attach them to the wall of my shower so that I didn’t waste time that could be used to study.

Sixth grade: My parents threatened to ground me if I didn’t go to bed. I was caught studying for a history test in bed with a flashlight. The goal was to memorize everything. Everything!

Eighth grade: My teacher at the time, whom you may compare to a modern day Mr. Feeny from Boy Meets World, pulled me aside and said that he worried about me and my attitude toward school. He asked my mother and me to meet with him and said that if I didn’t chill a bit that I might get an ulcer. (That was paraphrased.)

To the untrained eye, I’m not sure if my freakishness was very visible at all. By high school, I was so burned out that I instead used my energy to create what you would call “memes” of my teachers, using their yearbook photos and a cheeky caption. I definitely would have cried if I received a C on my report card, but realized that I didn’t need to put much effort into getting A’s and B’s and was a lot less hard on myself. I also attribute this to the introduction of “dating” which does nothing for you in high school except preoccupy your mind with things that don’t matter. My suggestion for all high school students would be to avoid dating all together. That, and don’t ever borrow your Dad’s power tools without asking. You will break them and he will find out. The same goes for playing in the wax of your mother’s fancy candles, lighting things on fire in your bedroom, and purchasing a hair straightener without automatic shut off.

The point I’m trying to make is: I like to push myself. I want to push myself. But most of all I want others to push me because that would require less responsibility and vision on my part… Can I just have an adult life teacher chase me around all day and ask me what I’m doing with my life? That would be quite motivating.

What do I do with this desire and why does it plague me daily? I’m hoping that this year I finally figure it out.

In an attempt to pile more onto my plate and satisfy my desire to do things that most  people hate to do, I will be writing a daily essay or reflection that I hope either purposely or inadvertently guides my actions and allows me to reflect on my own thoughts. Accountability is a huge motivator. I have supporters (thank you, guys!) who will not let me miss a day of writing now that I’ve started and I intend to keep this up for quite a while. I’m also in the process of writing a memoir for myself. I’ll post bits of this for you to read as well.

I’m doing this because writing brings me joy. If reading this does not do the same to you, then I beg you to stop reading. Life is too short to waste doing things that you hate.

-Nobody

 

 

Add More Chocolate Chips

Hello human.

First of all, you are either an actual friend of mine or have fallen deep into the hole of the inter-web. Clearly this is the case considering I, in fact, am a nobody and hold no credibility whatsoever.
But, I am here to tell you that all of us are just plain, old, vanilla ice cream until we throw something new into the mix. (Let’s face it: chocolate chip ice cream is really just vanilla ice cream with some flare.) The experiences we go through and the people we meet along the way have mixed in all sorts of intriguing toppings. We all share the same fundamentals as humans, yet through time have acquired various colorful sprinkles of suspense, hot fudge failures, strawberry surprises, or curious chocolate chips.

I’m here to share with you all the confectionery pieces of my vanilla life, in hopes that you’ll  find them as interesting, weird, inspiring, ironic, encouraging, and as entertaining as I do.

Disclaimer: All subsequent posts will not necessarily share a connection to ice cream or involve a food metaphor…maybe.