I don't hiss and smell.

Here's the thing: PDA is awful. And I'm not talking about the cute couple innocently holding hands at the mall, I'm referring to that guy in front of you in the line at the Verizon store rubbing his girlfriend's butt.  Excuse me mister, but can you please wish for me to be transported to a land far away that has copious amounts of puppies and popsicles because clearly your girlfriend's rear end is some sort of magical genie lamp.  Also, sweet flip phone.

*Sips from Capri Sun pouch*

Here's the other thing: College is awesome. That fun motorcycle-riding uncle with the tattoo who took you out for ice cream as a kid and drunkenly starts congo lines at family weddings is like if college were a person.  College is a sacred institution in which the beer flows freely (both down your mouth and all over your shirt), the chicken fingers are always cooked to perfection and getting yelled at by drunk guys on roofs when you're walking back from the library on a Thursday night is inevitable.  It's like a summer camp except all the bug juice is spiked.  You're in that awkward "I'm kind of an adult, but LOL not really" phase and it's marvelous. 

Adulthood is that annoying ex (that I've read so much about in novels) who incessantly drunk dials you and sends texts saying "You up? You know you have an 8 AM class tomorrow, you should really go to bed."  Excuse me Adulthood, but you're being super desperate and it's a major turn off.  Our relationship won't be Facebook official until May of 2014 and until then I will be playing the field with this plate of pizza and Lizzie McGuire movie that I just bought for 5 bucks at Half Price Books.

*Blows up now empty Capri Sun pouch, offers it to friend, laughs hysterically*

Here's the final thing: College = PDA central. Drunken tightly packed hormonal specimens in dark enclosed quarters with liquid courage coursing through their veins and Ke$ha playing in their heads are to PDA as frat guys are to tank tops.  There's always someone making out in a corner or grinding or doing weird things that are just not okay.  Can't we wait until we're in the comfort of our footie pajamas are all that touchy stuff?  

In the words of Cher Horowitz, you see how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet.  Just because we had a lovely conversation about Nintendo 64 Tony Hawk pro skater and our affinity for all things Harry Potter does not mean I want you to jump down my throat.  Unless your name is General Tso, then hey bb u look delicious ;) 

Basically, I just want us all to be respectable nice young people and not engage in make out sessions in the middle of bars because that's tacky.  Pretend you're under a microscope. A literal microscope. The bar is a petri dish. Your sweet plaid pants-wearing grandpa with the hearing aids watches in horror as you let some guy grope you in front of the bartender. That is all.

Peace, love, and SAY NO TO PDA,

Awkward Girl

P.S. THIS HAPPENED LAST NIGHT AND I'M STILL CRINGING:

(the entire conversation involved me rambling on about how awkward I am)

Guy at bar: So then have you ever been awkwardly kissed?

*leans in*

Me: YEAH AND I DON'T WANT IT HAPPENING AGAIN

*drops mic, walks off stage, trips, questions whether or not I should've let him kiss me in the middle of the bar, decides that's gross, worries he could've been my future husband, shrugs, orders 10 chicken nuggets at McDonalds and pays for the cab driver's too*

Try to kiss me once at a bar and succeed because you kind of just went for it and I didn't have time to process what was going on, but ultimately shame on me.

Try to kiss me four years later at a bar and fail because I'M A CONFIDENT YOUNG WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR, no shame on me. Just a nail polish stain.

The Butterfly Effect

No, this is not a post about 2004's science-fiction psychological thriller film starring Ashton Kutcher and Amy Smart, but rather an ode to the claws of cuteness that sat a perch my first grade tangled hair for the entire duration of the 1999-2000 school year.  The butterfly clips were not simply a 90's fad, but a cultural phenomenon that shaped me into the lanky, rosy-cheeked individuals that I am today.  What exactly was the effect that these plastic winged insects of the order Lepidoptera had on me?

1) They taught me to think outside the box.  My brother used the Easy Bake Oven without my permission?  No big deal, I would simply remove my clips to make an instant stockpile of winged weapons that were then strategically placed on his bedroom floor.  I was well aware that Legos can't touch butterfly clips in the "sharp pointy things that make your barefoot hurt like a mother when you step on them" category.

2) They taught me that pain is temporary, but pride lasts forever. Attaching a butterfly clip to my cheek is not one of my finer moments, but what's a girl to do when her friend challenges her to a contest as to who can keep the clip on their face the longest?  I mean, there were Dunkaroos and Fruit-By-The-Foots, not to mention bragging rights at stake!

3) They taught me that imperfection is beauty. One of the wings of my butterfly clip broke at recess and I was devastated, but no one even noticed.  In fact, one girl thought I had bought it like that and was jealous that mine was different than hers.  Score!

4) They taught me that life goes on.   Inevitably (maybe it was 2001, the exact date is unknown), butterfly clips became a thing of the past.  A remnant of a forgotten era, they were placed with my polly pockets, spiral shoelaces, and power beads, nestled into my baby blanket, packed into a huge chest and brought up to the attic where they currently reside. I grew up, they became obsolete.  Change is the only constant. Beauty is skin deep. One in the hand is worth two in the bush. Yada, yada, yada.

5) They taught me that memories fade, but bald spots (due to the twisting and pulling of various strands of hair tightly back into a clip) last forever. 

Peace, love, and bald spots

Awkward Girl

AIMless Ramblings

Before Siri, there was SmarterChild.  Before "report spam," there was "warning."  Before dubstep, there was dial up internet.  Before I became cool, haha just kidding I'm still not cool.  I hate to lump us all together into a big Koosh® ball of uncoolness, but as former *dAnCeRChiCK*'s and x3soccergalx3's--none of us can ever claim coolness.  We had 12 inside jokes or a cheesy friendship quote with all of our friend's initials listed beneath in our profiles.  We made our bff IM a guy (while we were on the phone with her) to see if he liked us.  Every conversation circa 2004 that we had went like this:

Hey.

Hey.

What's up?

Nm, u?

Same.

*awkward silence*

BRB

k

*never comes back*

All the cool kids had away messages like this:

desperate then greys

555.1242

call/text it

While we (okay, maybe just I) had away messages like this:

Eating Wendy's chili......OMG I FOUND A FINGER!

The cool thing about away messages is that half the time we weren't even really away from our computers.  No, we were usually sitting right there perusing the Internet for our next clever buddy icon because icons to us were like boys to Taylor Swift--fun for a week or so, but soon traded in for the next big thing.

First there was the Pringles icon, then there was the Paris Hilton animated stick figure icon where she drops a loaf of bread and a "That's hot!" speech bubble appears, then there was the "Rip, slip, brush, AHHHH!" icon and then there was a bunch of equally mindless, yet entertaining ones.  Naturally, we'd IM SmarterChild right away and ask his opinion on our new icon--to which he would reply "Hey Sexy!"  We'd laugh because we had told him our name was "Sexy" when we first started our friendship.  What clever little devils we were.  

Basically, you can take the girl out of the AIM, but you can't take the AIM out of the girl.  To this very day, the resounding echo of the AIM "door slam" rings in my head when no one laughs at my jokes.  Similarly, the creaking of the door plays in my head when that cute guy from class walks into the bar.

Peace, love, and AIM MeMoRieS <3

Awkward Girl

P.S. Before emojis there were these:

Throwback Thursday

Ah, the 90s/early 2000s.  It was a simple time-- a time of easy bake ovens, Mary-Kate and Ashley straight-to-VHS movies, Slime Time Live, spiral shoelaces, skip-it, frosted tips and tons and tons of other awesome things.  I'm going to *try* to write a Throwback Thursday post every week reminiscing on the golden days (we'll see how this pans out) because 2013 is so gross.  I feel sorry for the kids that don't know the Zoog Disney "Let's watch a Disney channel movie" song that played before every, well, Disney channel movie.  A girl I worked with who was just a few years younger than me didn't know why Nick Lachey was famous (other than the fact that he was married to Jessica Simpson and is extremely attractive).  Crazy, crazy times we live in.  In an effort to revive your and my monotonous Thursdays, I present to you the first order of business: GEL PENS!

"And on the seventh day, God rested and he was pleased with what he had created. Except he noticed there were no gel pens, and so gel pens rained down from the heavens and fell onto the land" (Book of Awkward Girl 3:11-12).  Even this picture of these bright colored assorted writing utensils is making my heart go all jiggly and is causing a huge smile to creep onto my face.  I received the above pack of gel pens for my 8th birthday and it is still one of my favorite presents to date.

Teachers just didn't understand the firm grasp these vessels of happiness had on their students.  I DON'T CARE IF YOU CAN'T READ MY TANGERINE COLORED INK ON THAT WHITE PIECE OF PAPER, MRS. SMITH.  Haha, just kidding, I cared--which is why I stopped using these bad boys when my grade school enacted a "no gel pens during class" ban.  Interestingly enough, I didn't stop carrying around my Pokemon cards when a similar ban was enacted, but that's another story.

One of my first (what I thought was) funny statements involved me asking a friend if they "gel-ous" that I had more gel pens than them and they didn't get it--but it didn't matter because I HAD MORE GEL PENS THAN THEM.  It was the currency of my 2nd grade class, which sparked controversy when some kid tried to swap his cheap gel pen for someone else's state-of-the-art swirly one.

Basically, these were awesome and I miss them.


Peace, love, and swirly colored goodness in a plastic tube,

Awkward Girl

CATastrophe

We all have our fears. For some it's heights, while maybe the sight of a spider makes others' skin shrivel up and crawl right off their body.  For me, it's cats. Yes, you read that right, cats. I'm not going to pretend that I'm referring to the king of the jungle tigers/lions/panthers/cougars. Nope, I'm talking about the little bundle of fur that you might be curled up next to at this very moment.  I've received many @replies about cats and if I like them and I thought I'd write this little blog post to clear up any confusion that might be floating around.

Cool, I haven't found my Ryan Gosling knight in shining Under Armour, whatever.  But does this have to mean that I have to love cats?  Cats are not my cup of tea. In fact, cats are my stubborn pouch of Capri Sun that I can't seem to poke that pesky yellow straw into.  Maybe it's because I didn't grow up around them, but they just evoke a fear in me that is only rivaled by my fear of girls with perfectly curled hair. How do you create those beachy waves, Courtney? HOW?

 Back to cats.  A Facebook friend was in the musical "Cats" and I couldn't even bring myself to look at the pictures. What's scarier than a life-size "cat" that is actually a human pretending to be a cat?  Though, to be fair, if a human was dressed up as a dog, I'd probably scream at my laptop screen too.  I don't know though because Simba playfully bats at my heart strings as if they're strings of yarn.  Because cats do that, right?  Like, bat at yarn and stuff? If they don't then they do now because I just pretended they did.  

On the one hand, fingers.  On the other hand, more fingers.  Haha, no, but back to cats.  I freak out when they purr and rub up against my legs, like I visibly get frazzled and immediately sit Indian style.  They're also so smart, like, I'm positive that every cat I've ever met somehow knows that I stole those jolly ranchers from the teacher's private stockpile in third grade.  Can cats go on walks?  Or ride in cars?  Serious questions, people. I am as ignorant when it comes to cats as I am on painting my nails without getting nail polish all over my skin.  

 If you like cats, good for you.  If you like dogs, good for you.  Just thought I'd let you guys know that I will never let the cat outta the bag because I'm terrified it might get my tongue and gouge my eyes out and sing "Shine Bright Like a Diamond" on repeat while bouncing on my head.


Curiosity didn't kill the cat, I did 
(haha just kidding, I don't kill anything but jokes),

Awkward Girl

     

Starsucks

     Starbucks as a potential form of alien currency?  Big fan--think one of those huge fans that you can't help but to scream "Luke, I am your father" into.  Starbucks as a coffee company?  Complete opposite of fan--think like Bruce Jenner's earring or Lindsay Lohan's line of coke or the water that you run over your ring pop to make it taste better.  And it's okay if none of that made any sense to you because I'm not really sure either.

       The Starbucks Christmas cup recently came out, and as a female I feel morally obligated to tweet about it and Instagram pictures of me pushing it in a tiny stroller.  I don't like Starbucks or should I say Starsucks (pretend it's creative guys). Why, you ask? Oh, you didn't ask? I'll tell you anyway you goober, I mean you've gotten this far and all:

   1.  Small, medium, and large.  Large, medium, and small.  These three sizes have been the standard since Jesus (haha not true at all, but a very very long time).  I like small, medium, and large.  I'm comfortable with small, medium, and large.  Okay, fast food chains have had variations of those sizes in the past i.e. mighty kids meals and kids meals and that "super size" nonsense and biggie and great biggie (by the way never tweet a photo of a biggie fry on the anniversary of Notorious B.I.G.'s death because no one will favorite it or RT it--you have been warned).  Back to Starbucks.  What's this tall, grande, venti jazz?  I shouldn't be made to feel like a fool when I say small, ya know?

  2.  Why is everyone inside of Starbucks so much cooler than me?  Like cute little hipster couples with your cute little matching macs and cute little hipster glasses with your cute little hipster flannels, can I borrow your coolness?  I'll trade you a red L.L. Bean backpack with matching red hit clip for, like, 5 cool points.  I call these Starbucks regulars "cof-fiends" because they're like little evil demon creatures that give you a nasty look for ordering a hot chocolate in July.

  3.  Too many flavors, too many different items, and not enough cliffs nearby that us indecisive people can swan dive off of to put ourselves out of our misery.  I don't know about you guys, but I love making decisions probably as much as Smarterchild loves getting replaced by Siri.

    What's this coffee business?  Latte? Espresso? Macchiato? Cappucino?  Starbucks has tea?  Is that allowed?  I can get my coffee iced?  Should I get a vanilla iced coffee and tell the barista that it tastes "nice nice baby" and then nervously snort into my drink?  Why did I dance around my room with that life-sized barbie?  Will I ever learn how to braid?  Why is the life-span of that zebra rainbow-striped gum shorter than the infant in front of me? (These are all the thoughts that finger-dance through my head while in the Starbucks line).

     If you've ever seen a dog try and get peanut butter off its nose then you've seen me try to order a drink from the barista.  I usually make my friend go first, and then I mumble "I'll have what she's having" while cart-wheeling away.

   4.  Wait, I lied, I don't hate EVERYTHING about Starbucks.  I love that I can give the barista any name I want.  Kara, Melanie, Trisha, Mackenzie, David, Cher, Bon Iver, the undertaker, etc.  I mean I  usually just stick with my own God-given name, BUT it's cool to know I have options.

   5.  Christmas blend, huh?  The Christmas blend I had tasted nothing like my feigned interest in the collector's coins that my uncle gets me every year.

    6.  Crap, I lied again.  I love the little green mini jousting sticks that you put inside the coffee so it doesn't spill.  I picture little elves fighting each other to the death with those lances and I get the biggest, goofiest smile on my face and I swear I'm normal.

   7.  Maybe it's the lighting or the intimacy of the tiny tables, but when a friend wants to meet at Starbucks, I know some serious conversation is about to go down.  I can be serious, but I'd rather not SO why can't we discuss your recent break-up at a McDonalds where I can at least be distracted by the little children banging on the windows of the playland and the vanilla ice cream cone dripping down my hand?  I bet you guys love my run-on sentences, by the way.

     Let's just say that my first instinct when someone wants to meet at a Starbucks is to cut off my finger and tape it to my forehead and neigh like a unicorn until my friend checks me into the closest psych ward.  Starbucks and I go together like Hilary Duff and Lindsay Lohan circa 2003, so take that for what it is.

  Peace, love, and beat Michigan,

 Awkward Girl

SUP.

Dear girls, guys, and alien creatures that may be navigating the world wide web and stumbling across this blog post,

     I have many interactions everyday (an occupational hazard of having over 70k followers, I suppose) and they range from "be my friend" to "you're not even awkward" to "you're not funny" to "I'm a guy and I just retweeted @awkgrlprblms #awkward" to "OMG I'M NOT GETTING MARRIED FOREVER ALONE @awkgrlprblms" to "hey I just bought footie pajamas in your honor."  I will address all of these comments in a timely manner because I'm procrastinating and I MAKE THE RULES HERE (are you scared? haha you goof, don't be scared).

    First off, I would love to be your friend (or girlfriend if you promise to play N64 with me and never try to hold hands with me ever).  Though, being friends with me requires that you never take yourself too seriously.  We're young and alive and we get to follow hilarious comedians on Twitter so relax.  You'll end up at the college, job, whatever that's meant for you.  Maybe it's because adulthood is looming on the horizon, but I've recently adopted a "who gives a crap?" attitude. Not in the "I'm going to fail out of school and not care about anything but partying" way, but in a "yeah, I'll pass by a pet store and spontaneously decide to drop in and play with the puppies for an hour" way.  So if you're cool with forgoing all responsibility for an afternoon of puppies and ice cream and blaring crappy music with the windows down then hi we're best friends because that's what I did with my best friend today and it was glorious.

     I'm not awkward?  Okay, Mr. Awkward Police.  Let me tweet stuff like "OMG awkward eye contact! so embarrassed lol!" and the only thing that'll disappear faster than my followers would be my dignity.  Sometimes I do contemplate tweeting generic unoriginal stuff so as to get more retweets and gain more followers, but then I think I'd rather saw off my kitchen table leg and impale myself while singing Miracles Happen.  Yeah, that one "problems" account may have 200,000 something followers, but do I chuckle once when I look at their tweets?  My corny sense of humor aside, I enjoy making others laugh and coming up with original relatable material.  This account is my creative outlet--and not every electrical plug fits every outlet.  If your electrical plug has remnants of dried-up ice cream on it and is often found tangled up in your desk drawer next to a tattered Harry Potter book then hey, let's go to Starbucks and order a Naked smoothie thing together because we're too uncomfortable ordering a coffee.  If your electrical plug is carefully placed in your desk drawer next to a fresh pack of BIC pens and precise to-do list then you're probably the girl that brings her boyfriend into Victoria's Secret to help pick out underwear so unfollow promptly, please.  Maybe my tweets aren't "awkward" enough for you, but my hope is that while you're anxiously scrolling through your timeline in the corner of a crowded party or alone in line at Chipotle that at least one of my stupid poorly-executed tweets will  at least make you crack a smile.

    I'm not funny?  Okay, no argument here, kinda.  I'm just a 20-year-old college gal trying to navigate the whirlwind that is exams, group projects, confusing boys, and overly-friendly squirrels.  Did I say I was an aspiring stand up comedian? No, mainly because why would I stand up when I could sit down?  Do I find myself funny? In a way, yes.  I'll be the first to tell my parents or friends when I tweet something that I find to be particularly humorous.  Do I make jokes that completely bomb? God yes. If I had a dime for every time I got the last (and first and only) laugh then I could deposit those dimes in a coin star to get, like, a billion Adam Levine clones.  See? See what I did there? Awful. Quite simply, if "I'm not funny anymore," then that implies I was funny at one point so thank you, I'm flattered.

     You're a guy and you follow me?  First off, hi marry me.  Second off, sweet.  Though my twitter handle is awkward girl problems, that doesn't mean you have to be a girl or a footie pajamas connoisseur to appreciate puns and whatever the hell else I tweet.  My twitter handle should be @thedesperateramblingsofanonhumorouscollegegirl, but I guess that was too long?  I can be awkward, I'm a girl, and I have problems.  I always second guess myself on multiple choice exams: problem #1.  My face gets red when I drink: problem #2.  I don't know what I want to do with my life: problem #3.  If you can relate to any of those problems then hey, following me is probably a great decision.  Own your masculinity, fellows and also for the love of God stop being tools and also hi, marry me.

    I know I joke about being single a lot, but honestly it's cool with me and I'm not actually that crazy and desperate.  I'm not the ugliest creature that ever walked the planet and I can talk about basketball for a couple minutes, so there's a glimmer of hope, maybe.  The right guy will present himself (with a pint of ice cream and hand-selected 90s throwback playlist, if he's smart) when the time is right.  I won't die alone.  You won't die alone.  We have friends, family, dogs, cats, gerbils, footie pajamas, online dating sites.  Everyone, relax, do you know how annoying it is to share a bag of popcorn anyway?!

    If you bought footie pajamas in my honor, bless your soul.  Welcome to the dark side, I'd love to awkwardly embrace you (via a light quick shoulder pat) and make shadow animals on the wall underneath a fort together.  I'll bring the popcorn, you bring Princess Diaries on DVD.

   If you're still here, I'm sorry.  OSU is 11-0, also. All right bye.

Peace, love, and I need to take a shower.
Awkward Girl