I have a feeling…

So I have all kinds of weird quirks. But you already know this, because you’re a faithful reader of this blog. Well, you could at least fake it. That’s better.

Anyway, back to my weird quirks. One of them is that certain things make random parts of my body feel weird. Like touching velvet makes my teeth hurt. I don’t know why. Here are some more. Fascinating, I know.

Random fake hair. I used to see this a lot when I worked downtown, usually on Monday morning. People get in fights over the weekend and sometimes weave gets snatched out. I understand why it happens, but it still makes me feel funny.

Body part that feels funny: Stomach.

The guy down the street who brings his parrots out for a walk. I know parrots are supposed to be great pets and good company. Maybe his parrots need fresh air, I don’t know how parrot parenting (say that five times fast) works. But when you drive down the street and you see some parrots stone-cold chilling in the cut, it looks weird. Also, his windows are covered with aluminum foil.

Body part that feels funny: Eyes.

Peach fuzz. Peach fuzz feels funky. I can eat a peach that has been sliced and skinned, but I can’t take a bite out of a peach. I also like peaches in Bellini form.

Body part that feels funny: Tongue.

The Destroyer’s bedroom. Okay, so I’m totally a slacker mom when it comes to making my kids clean their rooms. Also, if I made them do it, then I’d have to clean my room, and I’m not really feeling that. But his room tends to be way gross. WAY. The times that I have to go in there and get stuff I have to put on shoes and a jacket (my homemade HAZMAT suit). It perpetually smells like Takis and boogers.

This is what ordinary humans who try to go in there become.  I have been exposed for years, so I'm immune.
This is what ordinary humans who try to go in there become. I have been exposed for years, so I’m immune.

A few months ago I ventured in there to get a towel for laundry and I thought I saw something move in the corner, but I’m not sure because I just screamed and ran out. I believe the towel is still there.

Body part that feels funny: Feet.

Tiny shorts in the little girls section. So I’m shopping with Wondergirl and we’re looking for stuff to transition to spring—t shirts, capris, etc. She holds up a pair of shorts and I told her that I only buy her underwear in packs. She laughed at me and said, “No, mom, I need shorts.” I told her she had better go find some then. “I like these shorts.” My brain still wasn’t making the connection between what was in her hands and shorts. My understanding was that shorts were garments that were meant to be worn outdoors. Apparently, my version of shorts is prehistoric. So Wondergirl doesn’t have any shorts.

Body part that feels funny: Chest. Head. Gut.

I don’t know. Am I the only one that gets these? Please share. Except for you, Big Man. I’d rather you didn’t.


Put ’em up.

Note: So I actually wrote this before the Grammys that I didn’t watch. I shall now proceed.

So last night I had a dream where I got into fisticuffs with Kanye West. (Typing his name makes me feel funny. Like new-permanent-marker-squeak funny. I don’t know.) It was like Peter and the Chicken from Family guy fistfight and I won. I don’t think I had this dream because I think Kanye is a douchebag, even though I do. I had it because I always have bizarre dreams when I eat pizza before bed.

But it got me thinking. (You guys know where this is going.) Okay. First, in real life, no hitting. But if there was hitting and I could get into a fistfight with anyone and not get 5 – 10, who would I actually pick?

Rhonda Rousey. Because if she didn’t knock me out with the first punch, I would have bragging rights for the rest of my life.

The neighbor’s friend who always parks his busted up minivan in Gretchen’s spot.

Sarah Palin. Someone would have to give me a good reason not to fight her.

Johnny Manziel. See also Wilson, Russell.

I'm coming for you, Johnny Football.
I’m coming for you, Johnny Football.

The hipsters who park all around my parents’ house and then give me a dirty look like I shouldn’t be there. Even though my folks have been there since the 90s. Pre-gentrification. Back when these people wouldn’t have shown their face in that neighborhood.

This lady in my neighborhood who drives a new Dodge Ram and has a Doberman. I want to fight her out of sheer envy; I actually want to be her.

The squirrel who sits outside of my back door, eats his snacks, and then leaves a horrible mess.

Equifax. See also Mae, Sallie.

Wondergirl said Justin Beiber. But then, she enjoys fighting, so I think she just picked him out of the millions of people she would willingly fight.

The Destroyer said someone at his school, which really surprised me because he usually gets along well with everyone. Then again, he’s turning into a walking testosterone factory, so that’s probably going to change.

Kid Sensation said Lex Luthor. Which is an unbelievably awesome answer. Now I want to fight Lex Luthor.

I would love, love, love to hear who you would want to duke it out with. No one? You think you’re better than me? Wanna fight about it?

I also hate butterflies.

Hey y’all! I know I haven’t been around but I have a really good reason.

I didn’t feel like it.

Anyhoo, I’ve told you guys over and over that I’m pretty much a horrible person. It all came to a head this week. Here are a few of the horrible things I’ve said and done. I’m telling you guys this because misery loves company.

There was this football game that happened this weekend and everyone keeps asking me about it. I’m over it, so I’ve been telling people I was at a funeral.

I went for a walk yesterday and this little dog kept following and nipping at my heels. I was trying to figure out how to kick it without getting caught, but then it went home.

I ate the last cookie and told each kid that another kid did it, hoping for a kid-on-kid fight to the death. It never happened.

It would have been so awesome.
It would have been so awesome.

I watched Maury Povich.

I stuck my tongue out at a kid that was staring at me.

I told a telemarketer that I was dead.

I stepped on one of Kid Sensation’s toys and threw it away in a fit of rage. Then I tried to pretend that he never had that toy in the first place. He didn’t buy that explanation so now I owe him. Which is worse than owing the mafia.

This lady came and stood next to me when I was picking out apples at the store; I guess she wanted some apples too. She smelled horrible. I blurted out “Oh my God!” Really loud.

In his line of work, The Big Man’s shoes get wet and stink up the joint. I insist on making a production out of Febrezing them.

Wondergirl and I were watching show where a husband pranked his wife by putting salt in her coffee. Wondergirl says, “If that were me, I would have poured that coffee over his head.” That was my cue to tell her that second-degree burns are an inappropriate response to a little prank. Instead, I laughed.

I vow to be nicer this week. Wait, no. Next week. Next week, for sure.