Hello! I’m really not sure how I am ever going to be able to focus for any given chunk of time. I only have very small, fragmented 30 minute segments of time between Candy Crush lives. So, listen close!
In this first essay, I wanted to give the people exactly what they want: A brief glimpse into my 3 brain cells. We will dissect those cells and, in turn, I will outline and hence prove to you that I am a psychotic, neurotic, anthropomorphic (I do not know what this means, but I needed another “ic” word), highly functioning (depending who you ask), strenuous and simultaneously stressed, high and low-wit (depending on the day) socially phobic, incompetent, incontinent (I have 3 kids) mentally anxious nut job.
I have a lot of phobias. A whole lot of phobias. Most of my phobias present themselves in party-esque social situations, but some of the super fun ones come from deep within my inner gizzard and seize my loins into a massive choke hold.
My favorite example of my mental shortcomings would be my paralyzing fear of confrontation. Not only am I positive that I inherited this trait naturally, (Dad!) it dates far back to elementary school, where I would hide hours in the restroom in order to avoid “quitting” a boy who liked me, and then years later to when I was moving out of the apartment that I shared with my boyfriend (the horror!) and my dad helped me move out of said apartment in the middle of the night. This move doubled as our break up, because nothing says “I guess I’m single again” like returning home from work from your super awesome used car sales staff member position to an apartment equipped only with a cordless floor lamp and some dust bunnies. For the record, the lamp wasn’t manufactured that way, but we ended up using the cord to hold down our collection of 6 duct taped trash bags in the back of my Dad’s truck to protect my belongings from the rain. Hence, the term, “midnight movers” was born.
I will totally make up some fake over the top ailment, excuse or nonsensical tragedy in order to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. No thank you, very rude and aggressively inappropriate petition taker standing outside the store I am about to enter, I do not believe in your backwards, ignorant stance on this topic. Whatsoever! But I will sit there and politely nod my head and admire your combat boots, delicately chosen to complement your lacy, pearl white geriatric sweater and your lovely ever flowing rat tail. “Gosh, I totally would, but my grandma is waiting in the car, and she is coughing up clots of soy based hair fibers, and I’m running inside here real quick like to grab her some Visine before she renders herself defenseless and has to be Baker Acted. Again.”
And, thank God for texting! Now, this innovative and refreshing facet of technology has truly encouraged my non-confrontational values. What a lifesaver! You know what, Aunt Shirley? Hell no. You are not hosting Thanksgiving dinner again this year. And as soon as she walks away from my agreeable happy head nod, I will text her exactly what I think!
I also have ADD. I like cheese.