Maybe it's because I'm fed up with this psycho Charlie Sheen weather (sunny and upwards of 60 degrees, then rainy and downwards of 20 degrees), but for whatever reason I find myself reflecting on summer--which naturally makes me grimace. Don't get me wrong, I love summer just as much as the next girl. What's not to love about a few months of peace and solitude--away from nagging professors, term papers, the dreaded group projects that seem to pop up in EVERY class, and, of course, the long "walk of shame" to class. No, no, summer--I LOVE. It's the whole "let's go to the pool, drown ourselves in so much tanning oil that we look artificial, and strut around in our newest ADORABLE Victoria's Secret bikini!" thing that makes me want to dive (okay, belly flop) into the deep end and never come up for air ever again.
Why girls love being poolside is beyond me. I guess it's something to add to my "things I loathe with a fiery passion that is only rivaled by the Kardashians' passion for insane amounts of eye makeup" list (hula hoop-ing, watching movie sex scenes, and interacting with people is also high up on that list, in case you were wondering). WHY does a nice trip to the pool make me wish that I lived in that lonely cave with the abominable snowman from Monster's Inc? Let me count the ways:
1) Simply put, this summer when you tell your mom you're "going to the Red Lobster's!" she'll know that you aren't going to an overpriced, mediocre wannabe seafood restaurant (though if you haven't tried their biscuits, you should probably just go back to whatever planet you hail from), but merely coming to my house for a Harry Potter movie marathon.
2) The only time I'll ever be comfortable wearing an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini is when national "wear an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini and get free Chipotle for life!" day comes around--until then, I'll pass.
3) "Do you wanna play with these diving sticks?" Sure, why don't you just smother me in honey and direct me to the nearest bear-infested national park, while you're at it? These pool games or "drool games" (as I lovingly refer to them) were more common in my neon star shaped sunglasses, tankini-wearing days, but, needless to say, I'm still scarred. I put the AWK in "aquatic." I can't dive, I flounce around like a mutant seahorse and call it "swimming," and I'm still semi-convinced a shark inhabits the bottom of the deep end.
4) Disrobing myself at the pool is, without a doubt, THE most vulnerable I will EVER feel--EVER. I always feel like some weird wannabe subpar stripper when I take off my shirt and shorts and reveal my milky pallor to the world (for this is before I reach lobster status, you see). Bruno Mars should seriously change his lyrics to "when you strip down to your bathing suit, the whole world stops and stares for a while." Seriously.
5) Last, but not least--the DEATH CHAMBER, oops, I mean the bathroom. If you don't wear shoes in there, good luck trying to get rid of the athlete's foot/herpes/fungi/mold/questionable new species that has now taken residence on your feet. Not to mention, some people actually take real showers in there and there's like naked babies doing somersaults everywhere. It's just a really messed up situation that I try to avoid at all costs (and no, I do not pee in the pool, don't worry).
Well, if you ever wondered why I always refer to a "pool" of awkwardness, there ya have it. Too many awkward occurrences there, and not enough aloe in the WORLD to make ANY of it okay.
Peace, Love, and whistles (from the lifeguard because you keep hanging on the lane line).
Awkward Girl
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
(Awkward Girl) Walk of Shame
For awkward girls, "walk of shame" has a whole different twisted meaning than the general population's. Forget the classic "Snooki look-a-like strutting down the street still donning last night's guidette makeup, wearing hooker heels and a sweatshirt (if she's lucky) that the guy she shacked up with (is that even the proper use of that word?) was kind of enough to loan her." No, no, no my friends--I'm talking a different, but no less shameful, "walk of shame" that awkward girls face EVERYDAY OF THEIR LIVES.
You see, an awkward girl's walk of shame is worse in that she can have SEVERAL throughout her awkward-filled day. An awkward girl's "walk of shame" can range from anything to carrying a Victoria's Secret bag around the mall (like, cool, I bought a bra but everyone probs thinks I bought lacy cheetah print thongs) to the dreaded walk down the dorm floor to the shower in a towel (which is more of a sprint than a walk due to the male specimens inhabiting the other half of the floor) to arriving late to class (because isn't the classroom door ALWAYS at the front of the room and isn't there ALWAYS backpacks in the aisle to trip on?!) to walking back from a night out on the town and getting cat calls from guys on their porches (kill me now). But, there IS one "walk of shame" that is absolutely unavoidable/HORRIFIC, and yes, I AM referring to the long trek to class.
On a scale of accidentally liking someone's profile picture from 3 years ago to Kristen Stewart, this "walk of shame" is off the charts--like accidentally playing footsie with the guy sitting across from you at the library but 1000x WORSE. Why is such a simple everyday task so daunting for us awkward girls? While putting one foot in front of the other sounds simple enough--YOU COULDN'T BE MORE WRONG. For starters, we are severely pigeon toed (because, really, why wouldn't we be?) and if we aren't paying attention we often find ourselves veering off track into a building/tree/Ryan Gosling clone. Throw some ice or snow into the equation and we'd probably be better off to just chop off our feet and drag ourselves to class using our knuckles (seriously).
Then there's the whole eye contact issue. Every human is like a basilisk to us awkward girls (sorry for all the Harry Potter references all the time, but actually, I'm really not) in that we feel we will die (of embarassment/awkwardness) if we look someone straight in the eyes. Therefore, we employ many tactics to avoid this whole dilemma. Earbuds in, iPod on, because we feel this eliminates any obligation to look at anyone, EVER, since DUH we're totally captivated with our music (though we do always make SURE that our iPod isn't so loud that others can hear because, honestly, we're a little ashamed about the fact that S Club Party is on our Top 25 Most Played playlist).
We also find ourselves staring pensievely off into the horizon at distant objects such as trees, birds or buildings (as if we care about nature/architecture/anything but our current Words with Friends game) so as to look deeply engrossed in our complex thoughts. Cute group of guys approaching? We just received a really long, intense "text message" that requires us to keep our eyes glued to our phone screen or possibly our we just became severely OCD about our nail polish and suddenly need to chip it all off until the group passes.
When we do make eye contact (however fleeting the second is) we give a little half-smile that often isn't reciprocated, causing us to shift our eyes to that object in that distant that we were staring at prior to the whole awkward situation. Unfortunately, this just makes us look entirely creepy/mentally unstable as we stare into the distance with that god awful half-smile glued onto our face.
Last, but CERTAINLY not least, we have the whole "what do I do with my arms/hands?" problem. Honestly, we're jealous of Captain Hook. His life must be so easy because, undoubtedly, the most awkward thing about us awkward girls are our lengthy, gangly limbs. If we don't have pockets or a cell phone/ipod to latch onto we literally don't know how to handle ourselves. It takes every awkward fiber of strength within us to fight the urge to go all apeshit and pull a "Britney Spears" and shave off all our hair. Without something to preoccupy our hands with, they swing lifelessly/awkwardly at our sides--making us look like some creepy human orangutan hybrid that just escaped the local zoo (or, if you happen to live in Ohio, the nearest farm).
So, Snooki look-a-likes of the world, we actually feel your pain (minus the whole "we can't walk in heels" thing). We endure walks of shame every time we step out our door. As a matter of fact, I'm about to embark on my own--the dreaded tampons purchase. YIKES!
Peace, Love, and chia pets.
Awkward Girl
You see, an awkward girl's walk of shame is worse in that she can have SEVERAL throughout her awkward-filled day. An awkward girl's "walk of shame" can range from anything to carrying a Victoria's Secret bag around the mall (like, cool, I bought a bra but everyone probs thinks I bought lacy cheetah print thongs) to the dreaded walk down the dorm floor to the shower in a towel (which is more of a sprint than a walk due to the male specimens inhabiting the other half of the floor) to arriving late to class (because isn't the classroom door ALWAYS at the front of the room and isn't there ALWAYS backpacks in the aisle to trip on?!) to walking back from a night out on the town and getting cat calls from guys on their porches (kill me now). But, there IS one "walk of shame" that is absolutely unavoidable/HORRIFIC, and yes, I AM referring to the long trek to class.
On a scale of accidentally liking someone's profile picture from 3 years ago to Kristen Stewart, this "walk of shame" is off the charts--like accidentally playing footsie with the guy sitting across from you at the library but 1000x WORSE. Why is such a simple everyday task so daunting for us awkward girls? While putting one foot in front of the other sounds simple enough--YOU COULDN'T BE MORE WRONG. For starters, we are severely pigeon toed (because, really, why wouldn't we be?) and if we aren't paying attention we often find ourselves veering off track into a building/tree/Ryan Gosling clone. Throw some ice or snow into the equation and we'd probably be better off to just chop off our feet and drag ourselves to class using our knuckles (seriously).
Then there's the whole eye contact issue. Every human is like a basilisk to us awkward girls (sorry for all the Harry Potter references all the time, but actually, I'm really not) in that we feel we will die (of embarassment/awkwardness) if we look someone straight in the eyes. Therefore, we employ many tactics to avoid this whole dilemma. Earbuds in, iPod on, because we feel this eliminates any obligation to look at anyone, EVER, since DUH we're totally captivated with our music (though we do always make SURE that our iPod isn't so loud that others can hear because, honestly, we're a little ashamed about the fact that S Club Party is on our Top 25 Most Played playlist).
We also find ourselves staring pensievely off into the horizon at distant objects such as trees, birds or buildings (as if we care about nature/architecture/anything but our current Words with Friends game) so as to look deeply engrossed in our complex thoughts. Cute group of guys approaching? We just received a really long, intense "text message" that requires us to keep our eyes glued to our phone screen or possibly our we just became severely OCD about our nail polish and suddenly need to chip it all off until the group passes.
When we do make eye contact (however fleeting the second is) we give a little half-smile that often isn't reciprocated, causing us to shift our eyes to that object in that distant that we were staring at prior to the whole awkward situation. Unfortunately, this just makes us look entirely creepy/mentally unstable as we stare into the distance with that god awful half-smile glued onto our face.
Last, but CERTAINLY not least, we have the whole "what do I do with my arms/hands?" problem. Honestly, we're jealous of Captain Hook. His life must be so easy because, undoubtedly, the most awkward thing about us awkward girls are our lengthy, gangly limbs. If we don't have pockets or a cell phone/ipod to latch onto we literally don't know how to handle ourselves. It takes every awkward fiber of strength within us to fight the urge to go all apeshit and pull a "Britney Spears" and shave off all our hair. Without something to preoccupy our hands with, they swing lifelessly/awkwardly at our sides--making us look like some creepy human orangutan hybrid that just escaped the local zoo (or, if you happen to live in Ohio, the nearest farm).
So, Snooki look-a-likes of the world, we actually feel your pain (minus the whole "we can't walk in heels" thing). We endure walks of shame every time we step out our door. As a matter of fact, I'm about to embark on my own--the dreaded tampons purchase. YIKES!
Peace, Love, and chia pets.
Awkward Girl
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Compliment (n): Verbal Raping
Kinda funny (but actually really tragic, so not funny at all) how a simple sentence such as "I LOVE your skirt, where did you get it?!" can make an awkward girl want to set herself on fire, pogo stick off the top of a mountain, and fall headfirst into a pile of Forever Lazys that are doused in gasoline and self loathing. Put simply, no one wants to be that chick in Mean Girls who was rocking her mom's skirt from the 80's, got complimented by Regina George, and subsequently looked like a complete arse when the whole exchange was over. AND, don't even get me started on those giggling, sweet talking, creepy starfish earrings that Aquamarine wore. Those earrings would bring about an awkward girl's slow and painful demise in that they actually make water boarding look like a simple playful game of bobbing for apples. ****But, seriously, on a side note, what could those starfish earrings have possibly whispered to JoJo? Like, "Don't worry, you only looked like a pubescent boy in 95% of this movie?" (Wait, what? Who said that?)****
Anywho, compliments are to awkward girls as Achilles' heel was to, well, Achilles (I'm all clever comparison-ed out). Compliments are deadly, and nothing makes us blush/consider self-imposed exile/feel more verbally raped than receiving one. We are ALWAYS caught off guard since our awkward ways (clumsiness, inability to formulate worthwhile sentences, and complete ignorance to social norms) don't readily lend ourselves to the receiving of them. Consequently, everytime a compliment is thrown our way, we lament the fact that it doesn't come attached to a life jacket (which would at least help us to stay somewhat afloat in the whirlpool of awkwardness that we seem to be constantly flailing around in).
Unfortunately, compliments, for 99.999% of the population, aren't interpreted as a ticking time bomb (crazy, right?!) and are actually cherished by the receivers--thus we encounter them more than we would like to. WELL, needless to say, awkward girls are not like 99.999% of the population and, plain and simple, COMPLIMENTS SCARE THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF US. Why, you may ask? Well, let's see--we spend our days fuzzy socks on, hood up, head down, iPod in, hands in pockets, pretending that we are navigating the forests of Narnia when we're ACTUALLY just trying to get through the day by being as inconspicuous as possible. Being the center of attention/really just getting ANY attention makes us slightly nauseous--hence the piercing glare we give to family and friends when they ask the waiters at TGI Friday's to sing us happy birthday.
So, dear normal specimens of the world, try to think twice before you drunkenly go up to the awkward girl in the restroom at the bar and tell her "YOU'RE UBER PRETTY!" or "I LOVE THAT TOP ON YOU!!" And, trust me, you will most definitely be able to discern this unique creature from all the rest of them. She's the one who almost walked in on a girl ("Oooooops, sorry!!! I thought I knocked!!?!"), keeps using air quotes in casual conversation, and is about to have a mental breakdown because the only grinding she is comfortable with involves her teeth at night.
All in all, if you wish to avoid witnessing an awkward girl self-destruct before your very eyes--keep the compliments to a minimum, or better yet, don't say anything at all. You will save us awkward girls the embarassment of accepting said compliment (which we somehow irrationally feel is tantamount to admitting that "HAHAHA I MAKE MEGAN FOX LOOK LIKE AN UGLY TROLL AND I'M SO TRENDY HAHAHA!") and having to come up with a compliment to give back to you (which will be less of a compliment and more like a creepy statement, a la "Your hair is really shiny today?.!?!")
It's best to adhere to Awkward Girl Commandment #362: "If you have something nice to say, it's better to not say anything at all."
Peace, Love, and toe socks.
Awkward Girl
Anywho, compliments are to awkward girls as Achilles' heel was to, well, Achilles (I'm all clever comparison-ed out). Compliments are deadly, and nothing makes us blush/consider self-imposed exile/feel more verbally raped than receiving one. We are ALWAYS caught off guard since our awkward ways (clumsiness, inability to formulate worthwhile sentences, and complete ignorance to social norms) don't readily lend ourselves to the receiving of them. Consequently, everytime a compliment is thrown our way, we lament the fact that it doesn't come attached to a life jacket (which would at least help us to stay somewhat afloat in the whirlpool of awkwardness that we seem to be constantly flailing around in).
Unfortunately, compliments, for 99.999% of the population, aren't interpreted as a ticking time bomb (crazy, right?!) and are actually cherished by the receivers--thus we encounter them more than we would like to. WELL, needless to say, awkward girls are not like 99.999% of the population and, plain and simple, COMPLIMENTS SCARE THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF US. Why, you may ask? Well, let's see--we spend our days fuzzy socks on, hood up, head down, iPod in, hands in pockets, pretending that we are navigating the forests of Narnia when we're ACTUALLY just trying to get through the day by being as inconspicuous as possible. Being the center of attention/really just getting ANY attention makes us slightly nauseous--hence the piercing glare we give to family and friends when they ask the waiters at TGI Friday's to sing us happy birthday.
So, dear normal specimens of the world, try to think twice before you drunkenly go up to the awkward girl in the restroom at the bar and tell her "YOU'RE UBER PRETTY!" or "I LOVE THAT TOP ON YOU!!" And, trust me, you will most definitely be able to discern this unique creature from all the rest of them. She's the one who almost walked in on a girl ("Oooooops, sorry!!! I thought I knocked!!?!"), keeps using air quotes in casual conversation, and is about to have a mental breakdown because the only grinding she is comfortable with involves her teeth at night.
All in all, if you wish to avoid witnessing an awkward girl self-destruct before your very eyes--keep the compliments to a minimum, or better yet, don't say anything at all. You will save us awkward girls the embarassment of accepting said compliment (which we somehow irrationally feel is tantamount to admitting that "HAHAHA I MAKE MEGAN FOX LOOK LIKE AN UGLY TROLL AND I'M SO TRENDY HAHAHA!") and having to come up with a compliment to give back to you (which will be less of a compliment and more like a creepy statement, a la "Your hair is really shiny today?.!?!")
It's best to adhere to Awkward Girl Commandment #362: "If you have something nice to say, it's better to not say anything at all."
Peace, Love, and toe socks.
Awkward Girl
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
POC (Painfully Outgoing Chick)
The POC or "the girl that pisses out whole unicorns" as I like to fondly refer to her is the bane of any awkward girl's existence. Think the chubby "rainbows and butterflies" girl that "DOESN'T EVEN GO HERE," as Damien thoughtfully points out in Mean Girls. Except this girl does attend your school, is in your classes, shares mutual friends with you, and pops up EVERYWHERE. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she has her own personal Marauder's Map of your college campus and seeks you out--where ever you are, just to torture you endlessly.
We all know her and have had the unpleasant task of interacting with her. She will talk to ANYTHING and does not accept one word answers/grunts. You're holding a chem book in your hand as you enter the elevator? What a coinkydinc, because "OMG HER BF TOOK THAT CLASS LAST QUARTER AND SAID IT WAS SOOO HARD!" You're drinking a coffee in class. "IS THAT HAZELNUT I SMELL? SO JEAL, THAT'S MY FAV!" You're a hungover, lethargic college student walking to class Friday morning at the crack of dawn and you pass her in your dormitory lobby "HI! GOOD MORNING!" She's one of those people that you met at a party one time, yet she acts as if you used to take baths together as kids.
The whole time you converse with this Betty White clone, you are plotting your next move to flee the conversation. She KNOWS you loathe small talk, yet she still tries to have meaningful, drawn out conversations at parties, in elevators, and at the library (garnering heart-shattering stares from your peers which subsequently makes you wish the silly bandz on your wrist had sharp spikes that you could use to claw this POC's eyes out with). The POC's only redeeming quality is that she does always carry on the conversation (because God knows every conversation YOU'VE ever taken charge of seems to end in you awkwardly suggesting that "OMG WE SHOULD HANG!" even though just seconds before you were hiding behind a rack of clothes in the fetal position so as to avoid the wench), leaving you to simply nod, pity laugh, and spew an awkward sentence or two here and there. However, you always still end up tongue tied and feeling violated when the conversation finally comes to an awkward, abrupt halt (because you had to conveniently hurry off to pick up your dry cleaning that you "forgot").
POCs always grow up to be those annoying dentists that we all LOATHE who decide it'll be an AWESOME idea to ask the patient thought-provoking questions whilst their hands are flopping around lifelessly in the patient's mouth. "Sorry, what's your major/life plan/hopes and dreams? I couldn't quite understand you." No shit, Sherlock, it's hard to talk, let alone breathe, when your blocking my airway with your gorilla hands. There's a reason POC and doc rhyme, my friends. Yes, we have all encountered this painfully outgoing girl, whether it be in a dorm, office, class room, party, mall, parking garage, library, restaurant, chat room, animal shelter, etc. Unfortunately there is no known cure for this chick's painful outgoing-ness (except for maybe a serving of humble pie in the form of this blog post i.e. YOU NEED TO TONE IT DOWN POCs OF THE WORLD BEFORE US AWKWARD GIRLS SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST!) as it has been nurtured from day one by equally annoying and self-absorbed parents whose minivan is easily spotted because of all the obnoxious, brightly colored bumper stickers, such as "My kid is an honor student" and "I love my basset hound."
The best thing you can do when you see this girl approaching you is to duck into the nearest alley/become suddenly engrossed in a "phone conversation"/run away screaming bloody murder because, believe me, this chick is like a dementor in that she will slowly suck out your awkward soul with every word she utters.
Peace, love, and Snuggies.
Awkward Girl
We all know her and have had the unpleasant task of interacting with her. She will talk to ANYTHING and does not accept one word answers/grunts. You're holding a chem book in your hand as you enter the elevator? What a coinkydinc, because "OMG HER BF TOOK THAT CLASS LAST QUARTER AND SAID IT WAS SOOO HARD!" You're drinking a coffee in class. "IS THAT HAZELNUT I SMELL? SO JEAL, THAT'S MY FAV!" You're a hungover, lethargic college student walking to class Friday morning at the crack of dawn and you pass her in your dormitory lobby "HI! GOOD MORNING!" She's one of those people that you met at a party one time, yet she acts as if you used to take baths together as kids.
The whole time you converse with this Betty White clone, you are plotting your next move to flee the conversation. She KNOWS you loathe small talk, yet she still tries to have meaningful, drawn out conversations at parties, in elevators, and at the library (garnering heart-shattering stares from your peers which subsequently makes you wish the silly bandz on your wrist had sharp spikes that you could use to claw this POC's eyes out with). The POC's only redeeming quality is that she does always carry on the conversation (because God knows every conversation YOU'VE ever taken charge of seems to end in you awkwardly suggesting that "OMG WE SHOULD HANG!" even though just seconds before you were hiding behind a rack of clothes in the fetal position so as to avoid the wench), leaving you to simply nod, pity laugh, and spew an awkward sentence or two here and there. However, you always still end up tongue tied and feeling violated when the conversation finally comes to an awkward, abrupt halt (because you had to conveniently hurry off to pick up your dry cleaning that you "forgot").
POCs always grow up to be those annoying dentists that we all LOATHE who decide it'll be an AWESOME idea to ask the patient thought-provoking questions whilst their hands are flopping around lifelessly in the patient's mouth. "Sorry, what's your major/life plan/hopes and dreams? I couldn't quite understand you." No shit, Sherlock, it's hard to talk, let alone breathe, when your blocking my airway with your gorilla hands. There's a reason POC and doc rhyme, my friends. Yes, we have all encountered this painfully outgoing girl, whether it be in a dorm, office, class room, party, mall, parking garage, library, restaurant, chat room, animal shelter, etc. Unfortunately there is no known cure for this chick's painful outgoing-ness (except for maybe a serving of humble pie in the form of this blog post i.e. YOU NEED TO TONE IT DOWN POCs OF THE WORLD BEFORE US AWKWARD GIRLS SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST!) as it has been nurtured from day one by equally annoying and self-absorbed parents whose minivan is easily spotted because of all the obnoxious, brightly colored bumper stickers, such as "My kid is an honor student" and "I love my basset hound."
The best thing you can do when you see this girl approaching you is to duck into the nearest alley/become suddenly engrossed in a "phone conversation"/run away screaming bloody murder because, believe me, this chick is like a dementor in that she will slowly suck out your awkward soul with every word she utters.
Peace, love, and Snuggies.
Awkward Girl
Monday, January 16, 2012
American Horror Story
It's a Friday night, lookin good, feelin better. You're with your best girl friends (because apparently you own some sort of 'boy repellant' that hasn't been put on the shelves yet) "pregaming" (even though you made sure you were at least slightly drunk prior to their arrival JUST in case someone's hot boy cousin is visiting) to a really hip playlist from your 1st generation ipod nano that includes everything from old school Tupac (because you have older brothers and are SO musically cultured ) to Avril (just to relive your tie-wearing, "trendy" days) to insert the current song that is #1 on itunes here (because you're so relevant). You have just finished taking your 8th shot (technically your 4th since you can only stomach halfsies) in the quiet solitude that is the pantry of your apartment--away from prying eyes.
Then--you hear the dreaded 5 words that make your stomach turn and your heart to shatter into a million awkward pieces. "Guys, let's get a picture!" Shit. You're about as photogenic as the midget with the buck teeth that lip syncs to Katy Perry on Youtube (which you, by the way, never fail to lol at in public, making things real awkward, real fast). Your chest looks like a roadmap to Awkwardville with all of its intersecting splotchy lines/blobs/clusters that is an unfortunate direct result of your alcohol consumption. Do I even have to mention your rosy cheeks that could also function as a potential stop light? Backing out is not an option because the designated picture taker/girl who ALWAYS BRINGS HER CAMERA/Satan will not let you wiggle your way out of this one. Also, your friends will be offended because they want to get a "BFFS PIC!!" and make cute little letters with their arms that honestly have no meaning/relevance to society along with other various cute picture poses. Plus, as much as you hate to admit it, your facebook picture IS in some serious need of updating (you don't have one).
So, yeah, needless to say your appearance screams "Am I even human?" and you have no option to fade into the background on this one. BUT THAT'S NOT EVEN THE WORST OF IT. How the hell are you going to pose in said picture? If you're stuck on the end, you have to deal with the whole "to put my hand on my hip or not to put my hand on my hip?" problem. If you don't, the picture will look off balanced since you KNOW the girl on the other end is a classic "hand on the hip-er," but if you do you have to calculate a correct height for said hand. Hip is a loose term. Hand right on the bone, above, lower, diaphragm?!?! Okay, you can NOT be on the end.
Oh ho ho, but wait, that means you have to awkwardly stand in the middle and figure out arm placement relative to those on either side. If you put your hand on their lower back, you run the risk of coming off as a rapist/Rosie O'Donnell, but putting your hand higher up on their back makes you look like you're hailing a taxi (which you would never do unless you were with someone else because you are NOT sitting next to the driver). Clenched fist or open palm on their back? Your heart is racing (this convoluted thought process has taken a maximum of 3 seconds) because your friends are starting to come together for "THE CUTEST PICTURE EVER OMG!"
Oh, another minor detail, something's off with your smile. Actually it's less of a smile and more like a creepy, half-toothed snarl. What you hope is a perfect, flashy model smile that says "I'm so happy and I love life and I am basically Megan Fox!" is actually a sneer that screams "I just killed a man and hid his body under a pile of snuggies, HAHAHA!" Time is ticking, your friends are assembling, and you want the floor to swallow you whole and teleport you to a calm, soothing place--Narnia, Harry Potter World, or the nearest Amish community.
#awkwardgirlNIGHTMARE
Peace, love, and Kristen Stewart
Awkward Girl
Then--you hear the dreaded 5 words that make your stomach turn and your heart to shatter into a million awkward pieces. "Guys, let's get a picture!" Shit. You're about as photogenic as the midget with the buck teeth that lip syncs to Katy Perry on Youtube (which you, by the way, never fail to lol at in public, making things real awkward, real fast). Your chest looks like a roadmap to Awkwardville with all of its intersecting splotchy lines/blobs/clusters that is an unfortunate direct result of your alcohol consumption. Do I even have to mention your rosy cheeks that could also function as a potential stop light? Backing out is not an option because the designated picture taker/girl who ALWAYS BRINGS HER CAMERA/Satan will not let you wiggle your way out of this one. Also, your friends will be offended because they want to get a "BFFS PIC!!" and make cute little letters with their arms that honestly have no meaning/relevance to society along with other various cute picture poses. Plus, as much as you hate to admit it, your facebook picture IS in some serious need of updating (you don't have one).
So, yeah, needless to say your appearance screams "Am I even human?" and you have no option to fade into the background on this one. BUT THAT'S NOT EVEN THE WORST OF IT. How the hell are you going to pose in said picture? If you're stuck on the end, you have to deal with the whole "to put my hand on my hip or not to put my hand on my hip?" problem. If you don't, the picture will look off balanced since you KNOW the girl on the other end is a classic "hand on the hip-er," but if you do you have to calculate a correct height for said hand. Hip is a loose term. Hand right on the bone, above, lower, diaphragm?!?! Okay, you can NOT be on the end.
Oh ho ho, but wait, that means you have to awkwardly stand in the middle and figure out arm placement relative to those on either side. If you put your hand on their lower back, you run the risk of coming off as a rapist/Rosie O'Donnell, but putting your hand higher up on their back makes you look like you're hailing a taxi (which you would never do unless you were with someone else because you are NOT sitting next to the driver). Clenched fist or open palm on their back? Your heart is racing (this convoluted thought process has taken a maximum of 3 seconds) because your friends are starting to come together for "THE CUTEST PICTURE EVER OMG!"
Oh, another minor detail, something's off with your smile. Actually it's less of a smile and more like a creepy, half-toothed snarl. What you hope is a perfect, flashy model smile that says "I'm so happy and I love life and I am basically Megan Fox!" is actually a sneer that screams "I just killed a man and hid his body under a pile of snuggies, HAHAHA!" Time is ticking, your friends are assembling, and you want the floor to swallow you whole and teleport you to a calm, soothing place--Narnia, Harry Potter World, or the nearest Amish community.
#awkwardgirlNIGHTMARE
Peace, love, and Kristen Stewart
Awkward Girl
Awkward Girl Hell.
I want to let everyone know I've personally experienced hell. You think having to roll a giant boulder up a hill for eternity is bad? You think having your liver eaten by vultures every day for eternity is painful? (These are references to mythology.... #awkwardgirlknowledge) Then you've never experienced PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION. Nothing compares to that shit. Any awkward girl knows that she shouldn't mess with it. NEEDLESS to say, sitting across from strangers on a moving vehicle for an extended period of time is not our area of expertise. Seriously, when someone stares me in the face on the bus I usually half smile and when they don't smile back I don't know what to do with my eyes so I shift my gaze to the wall and keep half smiling. As a result I look like an invalid. SO, riding the bus is preeeetty far up there on the awkward scale... somewhere between your leg accidentally being groped by the boy sitting next to you in math lecture and the dude next to you in the library farting and having to pretend you didn't hear it.
There is one day in particular that I'd like to share with you.... a day when public transportation reached it's full potential for horror and humiliation. For me, at least.
The campus bus pulled up to the curb, right next to me. I looked at it, and this bus seemed to stare at me, taunting me, tempting me to get on and face the challenge. I could hear its engines revving, but to me it sounded like it was growling, "take a seat, ride me..." (I understand that quote has sexual undertones, and trust me, I feel more awkward typing it out than you do reading it...!!) The intelligent part of my brain told me, "Yes! ride that bus because you're late to class anyway! Face your fears you milquetoast!" But the awkward part of me (99.5% of me) told me "NO!!!!!!! Haha no offense but you shouldn't... sorry... but if you want to I mean... I don't know I'm bad at confrontation.." Seeing as the majority of my good judgment was telling me to just WALK to class, I'm not sure what drove me to board that god forsaken vehicle. But I did. Now here comes the good part.
I happened to be holding an empty styrofoam coffee cup in my right hand. I hadn't thrown it away yet because there was a group of people chatting by the trash can and I was NOT about to awkwardly interrupt their conversation to throw something away. If only I had known the trouble this would have saved me.... anyway, this cup was obviously very lightweight and hard to control if it were to fall from my hands. Understandable, right? Well, when I ambled onto this bus, I took said situation one step further. My left hand knocked this cup out of my right hand, causing it to arch into the air near some people's faces. As the cup left my grasp, I involuntarily yelled, "whooooop!" Not even "oops" or "whoops". Just think the first syllable of "hoopla" with a W and with the "o" extremely drawn out. It sounded like I was cheering for some sports team (but in reality I don't cheer in public so that comparison is inapplicable.) I attempted to catch this airborne saucer, but for some reason, every time I went to catch it, my hands had a mind of their own. I kept hitting the cup back into the air like a volleyball. It was like I was an act in a circus, prancing around juggling a coffee cup, and the group of passengers gawking at me were my audience. And the finale was just as awkward. When my hands finally agreed with my brain and I caught the damn thing, I started laughing uncontrollably. I looked around expectantly, but saw no one was sharing in my hysterics. So my laughter faded, and a feeling of disgrace and self-hatred replaced it. Haha! Oh. Needless to say, the remaining 4 minutes and 23 seconds of bus ride was absolute torture.
So, if you think you've gone to hell and back, remember this tale. Really nothing compares to it if you ask me. But if you're reading this you're probably an Awkward Girl too, so I think you can feel my pain and join me in basking in anxiety and insecurity. Now that I'm done writing my novella, I'm going to continue sitting in the corner of this library and staring at people who can't see me. (The perfect end to MLK day.)
Peace, Love, and Bowlcuts.
Awkward Girl
There is one day in particular that I'd like to share with you.... a day when public transportation reached it's full potential for horror and humiliation. For me, at least.
The campus bus pulled up to the curb, right next to me. I looked at it, and this bus seemed to stare at me, taunting me, tempting me to get on and face the challenge. I could hear its engines revving, but to me it sounded like it was growling, "take a seat, ride me..." (I understand that quote has sexual undertones, and trust me, I feel more awkward typing it out than you do reading it...!!) The intelligent part of my brain told me, "Yes! ride that bus because you're late to class anyway! Face your fears you milquetoast!" But the awkward part of me (99.5% of me) told me "NO!!!!!!! Haha no offense but you shouldn't... sorry... but if you want to I mean... I don't know I'm bad at confrontation.." Seeing as the majority of my good judgment was telling me to just WALK to class, I'm not sure what drove me to board that god forsaken vehicle. But I did. Now here comes the good part.
I happened to be holding an empty styrofoam coffee cup in my right hand. I hadn't thrown it away yet because there was a group of people chatting by the trash can and I was NOT about to awkwardly interrupt their conversation to throw something away. If only I had known the trouble this would have saved me.... anyway, this cup was obviously very lightweight and hard to control if it were to fall from my hands. Understandable, right? Well, when I ambled onto this bus, I took said situation one step further. My left hand knocked this cup out of my right hand, causing it to arch into the air near some people's faces. As the cup left my grasp, I involuntarily yelled, "whooooop!" Not even "oops" or "whoops". Just think the first syllable of "hoopla" with a W and with the "o" extremely drawn out. It sounded like I was cheering for some sports team (but in reality I don't cheer in public so that comparison is inapplicable.) I attempted to catch this airborne saucer, but for some reason, every time I went to catch it, my hands had a mind of their own. I kept hitting the cup back into the air like a volleyball. It was like I was an act in a circus, prancing around juggling a coffee cup, and the group of passengers gawking at me were my audience. And the finale was just as awkward. When my hands finally agreed with my brain and I caught the damn thing, I started laughing uncontrollably. I looked around expectantly, but saw no one was sharing in my hysterics. So my laughter faded, and a feeling of disgrace and self-hatred replaced it. Haha! Oh. Needless to say, the remaining 4 minutes and 23 seconds of bus ride was absolute torture.
So, if you think you've gone to hell and back, remember this tale. Really nothing compares to it if you ask me. But if you're reading this you're probably an Awkward Girl too, so I think you can feel my pain and join me in basking in anxiety and insecurity. Now that I'm done writing my novella, I'm going to continue sitting in the corner of this library and staring at people who can't see me. (The perfect end to MLK day.)
Peace, Love, and Bowlcuts.
Awkward Girl
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Hello Blog. Goodbye Any Sense of "I'm So Cool"
I can't even say that creating this blog is a dive into the pool of awkwardness, because I can't dive/function in society--as evident in the fact that writing this post is proving to be extremely heart attack-provoking. Safe to say that this blog creation is more of a lifeless flop into the vast world of social networking. And something for me to do when *boredom hits me and I can't deal with myself (*the fact that Even Stevens is no longer on TV).
Twitter's always a good time, but the 140 character limit can be so restraining (much like my snuggie when I have to go to the bathroom, might I add). My life is too complex (lame) to express all my sentiments in one measley tweet, hence this blog. I'm hoping to chronicle, via this 2002-esque blog, all of the uncomfortable, cringe-worthy, blush-inducing happenings on this awkward, winding path that I'm traveling on/have been traveling on since birth. Think Dora the Explorer. Minus a map (because no awkward girl dares to venture out of her comfort zone), pale, and instead of Swiper I have to deal with annoying drunk guys at bars who would probably list grinding/groping as their favorite pasttime, irrelevant professors, acquaintenances, and the occasional squirrel that decides to taunt me on the way to class.
I've definitely picked up a few things on this awkward voyage/my 20 odd years of existence (an obsession with Princess Diaries/Parent Trap/any Mary-Kate and Ashley movie, a student ID that makes Charlie Sheen's mugshot look tame, and an immense hatred for phone conversations/small talk/cameras--to name a few) and lost some things as well (my first two student IDs that honestly made me question whether I was human/not Godzilla, the hope that I'd grow out of my awkwardness, and any trace of dignity I had left). It's been fun(ny) though and my hope is that you chuckle, crack a smile, or AT LEAST somewhat enjoy my dancing twit pic as you peruse the @awkgrlprblms twitter account and browse this blog.
Didn't mean to write a novel. Peace, love, and Crocs.
Awkward Girl
Twitter's always a good time, but the 140 character limit can be so restraining (much like my snuggie when I have to go to the bathroom, might I add). My life is too complex (lame) to express all my sentiments in one measley tweet, hence this blog. I'm hoping to chronicle, via this 2002-esque blog, all of the uncomfortable, cringe-worthy, blush-inducing happenings on this awkward, winding path that I'm traveling on/have been traveling on since birth. Think Dora the Explorer. Minus a map (because no awkward girl dares to venture out of her comfort zone), pale, and instead of Swiper I have to deal with annoying drunk guys at bars who would probably list grinding/groping as their favorite pasttime, irrelevant professors, acquaintenances, and the occasional squirrel that decides to taunt me on the way to class.
I've definitely picked up a few things on this awkward voyage/my 20 odd years of existence (an obsession with Princess Diaries/Parent Trap/any Mary-Kate and Ashley movie, a student ID that makes Charlie Sheen's mugshot look tame, and an immense hatred for phone conversations/small talk/cameras--to name a few) and lost some things as well (my first two student IDs that honestly made me question whether I was human/not Godzilla, the hope that I'd grow out of my awkwardness, and any trace of dignity I had left). It's been fun(ny) though and my hope is that you chuckle, crack a smile, or AT LEAST somewhat enjoy my dancing twit pic as you peruse the @awkgrlprblms twitter account and browse this blog.
Didn't mean to write a novel. Peace, love, and Crocs.
Awkward Girl
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