That Boy Ain’t Right

Why are the kids calling me a butt pirate?

As a kid, my brother was constantly trying new things. It seemed like he had a new interest or hobby every week. I blame my parents for buying him such diverse Christmas gifts. So he would be a power ranger one week and a Satanist the next week.

My mom took us to the public library quite often, this is where he found a book for children on how to speak French. I recall seeing the book, listening to him practice for all of five minutes. Then, like a typical moody teenager, retreating to my room to listen to Smashing Pumpkins and be melon collie with infinite sadness. Seriously, I’ll bet family members felt like they were the billy goats approaching the troll under the bridge rather than another loved one. I digress, that’s another topic. I will say girls, specifically teenage girls, are monsters and I have apologized to my parents, as all of us should upon adulthood realization.

My father came to pick my brother and I up to go to his house for the weekend. I get in the car with of course my headphones because I shall not be disturbed. My brother was still in the house. After a fairly long time, my dad asks me, “Where in tha hell is that boy?” I shrug. Suddenly the backdoor swings open and my brother is wearing knee socks and the shortest shorts he owns. He has made a feeble attempt to look like a French school boy.

My father, I swear, Mike Judge has met him when he created his “Hank Hill” character. Upon seeing my brother my dad’s jaw drops and I hear a gasp of disgust, shock, utter dismay. My brother stops at the steps and raises an arm in the air “Bonjour papa!” and he does a little twinkle action with his fingers. He skipped down the stairs, merrily ya’ll, very merrily.

“What…in…the….hell….*gah*…that boy ain’t right” was all my father could muster. This is a man who is opinionated and is usually not at a loss for words. My brother left him flabbergasted. I of course laughed, laughed until my innards felt they would rupture and I would have laughed as I died of sepsis. I had no idea my brother was going to become a french school boy overnight.

My dad then collected himself and asked if we wanted to get a bite to eat. My brother suggested crepes. My father responded with a swift “No”. He took us to Wang’s China (yes, really it’s called that HA!) and asked that my brother pull his socks down so as not to embarrass him. My brother tried to explain he was learning French to which my dad said, “Shit hell what for son? You don’t need to learn French (oh the face when he said French) or at least don’t wear them socks!” I think my brother was signed up for baseball the next week.

I must admit my brother did look pretty funny. I think my dad’s point of view was a male perspective: he would have beat up a kid like that on the playground. Good looking out dad, you sure have a special way with words!

Irrational Fears Explained Rationally

There is a reason that the battle angels will ride death horses into the apocalypse; they are scary  animals. They’re big, strong, and become enraged when they sense fear. You laugh, and you say, “Oh but what about Mr. Ed?” and to that I say….”Shut your face.”

I have some pictures of horses that scare the fuck out of me:

I’m sure you question why I have a fear of horses. Well, it’s simple I’ve had horse-related trauma throughout my life. I’ve learned the horse is to be respected, feared, stayed the fuck away from.

Traumatic incident #1: I was staying at a friend’s house who had horses. I was standing in the stable in front of a huge beast horse and she was talking to me. The horse leaned over and tried to eat her hair. She screamed the most terror filled scream I recall hearing from a six-year-old. Her uncle came to her rescue pulling hair from the horse’s mouth. I stood incapable of any gross muscle movements, only tears. Which came easily. I think she quit believing in God that day. We also got yelled out because apparently we weren’t supposed to be in the stable. To which she responded it was my bright idea. You know, so she would be in less trouble (child logic) which was pretty shitty. I didn’t know she had those bastard creatures there and I in no way would suggest going near them on my own. They’re big, the snort really loud, they eat apples in one bite. Seriously I watched this thing eat an apple like it was a piece of popcorn. I don’t doubt the horse’s ability to crush bone too.

Traumatic Incident #2: Fast forward to nineteen years old. I went on a date. Now to this boyfriend’s credit it was a nice idea, and rather sweet. I did however tell him horses scare me. He didn’t believe me. He begged, he insisted I would absolutely love riding the very animal I have carried a strong phobia against. Well, I get on my horse. My heart is racing, pounding so hard I feel like Micheal Moore doing Zumba. Then of course MY horse decides it would go bat shit crazy. It takes off full speed down the trail. I can only imagine Christopher Reeve and not in a funny way, I was really scared. The instructor screams at me to squeeze it’s belly with my legs. I do, with every amount of strength I could muster. It rears back a little but stops. I did not care about my being an adult. I cried. I cried like “Leave Britney alone!!!” crying. I am not ashamed either. Now, to my credit I was a good sport. I was placed on another horse and braved the trail when I found out my boyfriend had already paid a non refundable horseback riding date…oh, and he begged me to. I nonetheless was pretty grateful when the ride was over. I don’t want to ride another horse ever again. Even though I rode the horse, I was petrified the whole time. Also, the instructor told stories about being thrown off. I made many silent prayers and promises to heaven that I would stop being such an asshole if I could keep my wretched life one more day.

In conclusion, horses are beautiful and dangerous…like fire. I hate horses they make me cry.

Jesse Spano Is Excited

Addiction defined as a preoccupation with a substance or behavior despite the consequences. This isn’t limited to alcohol, drugs, gambling, and sex. Well, you know the addictions that are cool. No, addiction can be related to a multitude of things. Another TLC network favorite of mine: My Strange Addiction. Great show. Trust.

Off the top of my head I can recall an addiction to dryer sheets, rocks (yes eating them like it’s The Never Ending Story), cremated ashes, drywall, and powdered cleaning supplies. The show documents the effects of the addiction on the individual and then later consults a healthcare professional to weigh in on the obvious: that shit’s bananas, no one should eat non-food items.

How traumatic would it be to be sexually abused by someone wearing the hide of your family members? mindfuckery.

If you have watched, you are aware the show presents with the addiction initially, then follows up with it’s genesis. This is where I get confused. Almost every episode gives a similar synopses. The person fixates on the olfactory or tactile gratification, and then somehow they make the connection to eat it. Instantly they pursue a life centered around such item with  absolute recklessness. You know like how Seigfried and Roy were addicted to tiger sex, even after a life threatening brutal attack on Roy. An attack, by the way, The Simpson’s eerily predicted…super fans will know what I speak of, can’t find the video, but click on the link if you don’t believe me.

Anypoop, the most disturbing part of this show is how a simple household item can send a person into such a downward spiral. If the show is even real (doubt it) then these people take one bite and they’re done unable to control their impluses. Every episode explains it that way, like it’s an after school special. Or that episode of Saved by the Bell when Jesse was addicted to energy pills (“I’m so excited, I’m so excited…I’m sooo scared Zach! Bwaha huh huh!”) I’m compelled to say that while there are kind hearts that have sympathy for heroin addicts, no one would understand an addiction to baby powder, you’re just considered weird. Furthermore, how many support groups are there for addiction to commercial items?

Most troublesome is, I wonder if my brain is a ticking time bomb. Will there be a product that will push me over the edge? While I spray my kitchen counter with Method ( oh the lavender is lovely) I do enjoy the smell. My brain still tells me drinking it would be a bad idea, and I opt for water with lemon instead.

Burt’s Bees has created a line of hygiene products that smell delectable called Gud. You know, with the funny dots over the U… yeah, I don’t know how to type that. The Vanilla is unreal. The smell is heaven. If I were to try any non edible product based on smell, that would be it. I haven’t made that jump but when I spray the body spray on myself I lift my shirt to my nose several times a day and feel utter elation as I inhale the vanilla ecstasy. What if? I hope it’s not all that toxic, should my brain make a neuro pathway from which I cannot disassociate. Thanks TLC, always keeping me entertained. I waste many hours of my life gawking at medical oddities and unusual human behavior.

Also please be sure to check out a blog called Bugwear it’s wonderfully girly!

Even Rick Astley is Full of Shit

Promises to never; give me up, let me down, run around, dessert me, make me cry, say goodbye, tell a lie and or hurt me? Yeah, I doubt it but it’s catchy. I’ve heard these lines before, and I’ll hear them again. I have entered the dating world again about six months ago and realize it’s a tough. This is a far less bitter post about dating, because I’ve had an epiphany.

Check this out, if guys are going to put in copious amounts of ground work in order to get my goodies, why not capitalize on it. Now, don’t get it twisted I’m not a total fool. Some guys will put in months of groundwork only to drop me if I sleep with them, or don’t sleep with them soon enough.

I have decided that in order to remedy my hurt feelings, I’m going to make sure I make it worth my while. It’s time to experiment.

I want to see how far I can push the boundaries of what a man will do for my vagina. For starters, I think I will suggest a double colonic for our first date. I mean would a guy really be willing to get tubing shoved up his asshole and pumped full of water? I want us to get this done in the same room, no privacy curtain. It’s not like I find the idea of their impacted bowel contents running through clear tubes savory by any means, but I feel nothing could be more humiliating on a first date. You know, because it takes a while to poop in front of your significant other. In my opinion an open door poop is next level. It’s right up there with “I love you” and “Let’s bring other partners into our relationship, you down?”

Following this, and ten pounds of excavated feces, I am willing to bet he’s done. No? Well, then it’s time for a chick movie marathon. I hate romantic comedies, but I am willing to suffer through no less than ten of them just to torture this fool. I will be sure that all of them have a similar story line and even actors that look the same. This won’t be hard to do, most of them will have Jennifer Anniston and Drew Barrymore. I could probably pick them at random and pick pretty much the exact same fucking movie over and over again. Or, even better Titanic, seven times in a row. I will cry the whole time.  I’ll stifle my inward feelings of victory.

Perhaps dinner? Well, now it’s time to show off my table manners by getting trashed on several alcoholic  beverages. Now it’s time to unload all my baggage. I have a kid, so why not mention I am looking for a “daddy”. On a side note my kid has a fantastic father who couldn’t be better at taking care of him so it would be funny to me. I can talk about my knitting hobby, Precious Moments figurine collection and well old bloody band-aide collection. It’s perfect.

Yep, I have been letting the menfolk off too easy by being a level-headed girl that doesn’t blow up their phone. I am pretty self-confident but I think constantly seeking validation would be a better approach. Perhaps just to appear more reckless, I can throw in some daddy issues of my own albeit made up. It’s bullet proof.

I want to hear doves cry.

Why? Why Sheena would you put a man through the gauntlet like this? Well, instead of their smooth talk and lies, why not make them put in work. Talk is easy, why not? No more letting these boys off so easy. I mean how simple is it to buy dinner and give compliment or two (grandiose at that, I’m cute, but I’m not fucking Meagan Fox that’s why I work, dickface). If anything I can study this for scientific purposes, and we know scientists study a lot of stupid things that waste an inappropriate amount of funding. I simply want to see how far will a man go? Will he walk 5,000 miles, he will sing about it, will he do it? Stay tuned, I am unleashing pure hell on the dating realm. Insert evil laughter….here.

I kid, but it’s not a bad idea in theory!

Maturity Isn’t Fun, Especially When You Realize You’re a Jerk

I have admitted before that as a teenager I was an asshole. It’s not like I completely grew out of it either. In fact, it’s not so much conviction that prevents me from harassment, embezzlement, blackmail and maybe arson…but rather a fear of prison. I don’t like the thought of not being able to pluck my eyebrows, which left unattended will consume my face in a caveman like manner. No, I’m far to vain for this.

Well, ten years removed, I thought I might admit to everybody and nobody in particular that, yes, that was me…sorry.

Firstly, on the summer between junior and senior year I managed to get myself grounded for almost the whole summer vacation. That’s another story. My friend Andrew and I did not stop our prank phones calls though. We discovered that if we each did a three-way phone call and then clicked over, muted our own line, then the other two parties would unwittingly talk to each other. So we would call random people from the phone book at the same time and let the mayhem begin. These people were perplexed as to why someone they did not know called them and furthermore why they insisted they did not. Sometimes the call would end amicably and sometimes, when we were lucky, the people would argue, even curse at each other. It was awesome. So, if you got a weird ass phone call ten years ago from someone asking you why you called them when it seemed they called you….sorry, that was me.

Secondly, we also made a profile on a dating phone line. I think it was called Connects. Our profile was a young woman, seeking a swinging couple, that enjoyed role play and the wild side. It just so happened that I was mad at my ex boyfriend at the time so I used his phone number as a contact. Well, I decided it would be great fun to wait until two in the morning and invite strangers to call me. Not only to call but to immediately say the dirtiest thing that came to mind. So this guy got a flood of tacky phone calls all hours of the night. It was bad enough he in so many words made a truce and asked me to stop whatever I was doing. I never really told him how he got calls from guys describing just how they would like him to poop on their chest. I did stop. I feel sorry for any incidental phone calls his parents received. Yeah, that was me too…sorry again.

Same guy, I spied his locker did not have a lock on it. I dumped an entire container of glitter in it. He walked around with glitter on everything and in all his books. It was sparktaculous. Sorry dude, you probably know I did that.

At my apartment complex, there was a flyer placed on all resident’s doors about “human waste repeatedly found in the apartment pool” that’s so shitty ya’ll. Well, my friends and I made our own flyer using the words, poop, poo, boo boo, and shit. We made a picture on paint of a guy swimming in a pool and a turd floating in it. We made copies that we placed on the doors around the complex. That was my doing, I’m not sorry, that was fucking funny.

There was a teacher who was really, really old. She was dubbed “Goody Blackburn” after having to read about the Salem Witch Trails. For whatever reason all the women had the prefix goody. Those puritans were weird. Well she left her classroom open, and it just so happens she had a chalkboard full of dick drawings the next day…I didn’t even have her as a teacher. I did have some part in this too. Sorry lady, it was so inappropriate.

These are the first few violations that come to mind, and now I feel I should apologize. Perhaps, I have reached maturity. I wouldn’t do any of these things now. Well, most of them.

Coffee Talk

My longstanding love affair with coffee began as a young adult. I started drinking it to suffer through mandatory overtime at my first “adult” job I had. No, I don’t mean pornography, I mean the first job I worked upon turning eighteen and graduating high school.

Years later, part-time school, full-time work, and a baby has left me more or less addicted to caffeine. I’m cool with it, I don’t get near the amount of sleep I should even to this day, with slightly less on my plate. FYI: You can leave your kid at McDonald’s Playplace ball pit and walk away no one even notices! I am kidding, obviously, and McD’s has some bangin’ coffee.

Yes, this is appropriate. Duh.

I love local coffee houses, their specialty drinks are truly divine. It’s brewed with all the care a hipster can muster while trying too hard not to look pretentious and not caring about looking pretentious. The atmosphere is still cool though, even if the guy next to you is discussing post apocalyptic survival on bean sprouts and all the physics a cartoon parodying Stephen Hawkins taught him. I mean Jebus, save me, that is some of the shit I overhear for serious. How can I not when Mr. Open-toe Sandals is chatting away. I want to be like, “Dude, you brought your fucking Mac Book, why don’t you occupy your face with that?” I digress, because Mexican hot chocolate is worth that and much, much worse.

Also, this is the only location you may find more profound things than dirty limericks scrawled on the bathroom stalls. I mean of course Deepak Chopra belongs here, everyone knows how smart you are because you proved it by writing it on a bathroom stall…wait. While I’m at it, should I mention to the loner with the headphones, go fight the savage loneliness at a smaller table please, my friends and I need somewhere to sit whilst we socialize.I mean,  I know you have only been sitting there for seven hours but it would be courteous no?

I’m not a fan of the big corporate coffee shops, surrounded in scandal, such as Starbucks. I’ll still spend the gift card I received in there, caffeine is caffeine is caffeine and I would intravenously inject it if I didn’t think it would kill me. It seems Starbucks can be…..

Perverted

Hates dwarfism 

Put bugs in your milkshake

I haven’t had the best experiences there myself. This includes miserable cashiers and the fact that the Starbucks in Barnes and Noble Bookstore will not accept, get this, Starbucks gift cards. Yeah you read correctly, they don’t. They can also suck a bag of dicks.

On the contrary, Starbucks will always receive a begrudging respect from me. Why? After I just bashed the chain? Well, because of this:

Woman Finds Profanity on Starbucks Cup

"I need you inside me" is generally what I say to my first cup.

It’s hard to say whose side I’m on. Hear me out. I’ve done customer service, and it’s horrendous. People can be incredibly rude. The anti-social part of me cheered upon reading this (I imagined doing similar everyday). The more mature adult sees this as inappropriate. Whoever did it, they have some serious balls, that lady in the video was built like Larry the Cable Guy.  This could have gone horribly. I wish that bitch would give me her free vouchers, I’ll be a bitch, a bitch with free coffee (I win).

I suppose my goal here is to antagonize my local Starbucks employees into calling me names so I can get free coffee. you know when I don’t have the money for “cool” coffee. Not iced ya’ll fucking cool, like not lame. I have no scruples I’ll drink coffee if it comes from Peruvian child labor and employees that do not wash their hands. I really, really love coffee.