My own Sing Off

So I was sitting on the couch watching The Sing Off on NBC,and as some of the less talented groups performed, one thought led to another: I love a capella so much. I wish I could be in this group. I am better than some of these people. I should've joined an a capella group. It was then that I remembered I did try out for an a capella group in college. ...and then I sat on the couch, depressed, for the rest of the show.

I had a rough time in college, thats no surprise to those who know me. Emotionally, physically, I'd even go as far as to say psychologically, freshmen-junior year just weren't my best. But junior year I began to pull myself out of the darkness by joining political groups, kicking my classes' butts, joining sports clubs, and getting my weight issues/thoughts under control. But I needed to go all the way. I was going to take my love for singing and bring myself to the top. A capella try outs! I saw a flyer advertising tryouts in a week, so I started practicing. The night of the try out I called my mum and practiced over the phone with her. I want to make sure you're picturing that correctly. I called her. Then sang into the phone. And she sang back.

I headed to the music hall and was greeted by a sign up sheet asking me to list my singing history. That should have been a very easy answer, for all I had to do was write, "no formal experience" or if I only slightly wanted to embarrass myself, maybe "chorus." Meh. Instead, I listed every play, made up a few choirs, and listed FAMILY CONCERTS. I put those two words down on the sign up sheet. When I was younger, there was a huge event/carnival at the CAP playground, and my mother and a few aunts played guitar and sang a few songs on the stage. This was the scene I was picturing when I decided to jot down "family concerts."

My name got called and I walked into the world's tiniest room, with space for a piano, me, and TWO BOYS. Both normal/cute. So I took a second to convince myself that they were gay. Then I thought, welp, I haven't sang, by myself to a crowd since kindergarten when my mum made me try out for the school play and I cried on stage and sang in a shaky quiet voice. NEVER AGAIN, I told my 4-year old self. I was wrong, because here I was staring at two cute men 10 inches from my face eager to hear what I had come to sing.

And that was "Donna" by Dion and the Belmonds. ahem. So it was time to start- and how did I know what key to start in? I memorized a button on my cell phone, and matched my voice to that. Then, I realized I didn't know how to sing TO poeple. So instead of singing to them, or closing my eyes, I turned to the right and FACED THE WALL. So after I was done serenading the side of the room, I turned back to the boys, who I'm sure we're using everything in their power not to laugh. They then asked me to do some scales. "Do you know how to do those?" they asked. And while the answer should have been, "not a clue", I said yes. So that was another absolute disaster, and now I could just feel their pity. I left that room so unbelievably ashamed, and called my mother to laugh/cry about how ridiculously bad the experience had turned out to be. I spent the next year and a half avoiding those two "gay" guys at all costs.

Food: Part 3

3. Foods that only some people look good eating.

At UConn, I remember leaving the dining hall with Maria as we walked behind a really cute friend of hers, who happened to be eating ice cream. Even as a very, end-of-the-spectrum straight female, I couldn't help notice how unbelievably cute this girl looked eating an ice cream cone. Then I couldn't help thinking that, put in that same role, I would have just looked fat, and probably sloppy. I mean who actually LICKS a cone? I bite. I thought that was normal, but after watching the UConn ice queen I realized I had to make a more conscious effort of controlling my neck and tongue movements. So, yes, eating ice cream can be hot, but only if you're hot.

Same with lollipops. Ever watch a cute girl eat a lollipop? Even I want to kiss her! Ever watch a gross person eat a lollipop? Nausea. How can one food do two horribly different things for two different types of people?

In fact, I was at Lucky's the other night and decided to go crazy and order my favorite drink: a dirty martini, yummo. In movies, all I ever see is a sexy woman eating an olive out of her dirty martini, and its prett much the hottest thing ever. But when I eat them, I just look hungry.

And I'm so sick of these commercials about women and chocolate and what an intimate, almost inapropriate, relationship the two have together. I do not slowly twirl around, moaning while I take a tiny piece of chocolate with an ever-so-dainty front-teeth bite. When I eat chocolate, I'm usually hiding somewhere, and biting big and fast so I can hurry up and get it over with, because after the chocolates gone is when I can start to diet again, ya know?

Food Part 2:

2. Food some people are self conscious about

Like, bananas. It actually has taken me years to get to a point where I can eat a banana the normal way in public. All throughout high school and college, I'd have to peel it back, rip a piece off, and pop it in my mouth. When you eat a banana this way, not only do you get mush on your fingers, but everyone around you knows you're trying to avoid treating that fruit as something phallic. The more I looked around though, the more I realized people ate bananas by just biting. Guys, girls, big, small, ugly, pretty, etc., and I wanted this freedom for myself. The freedom to eat a banana any way I want, and to shed my 6th grade fears of biting something shaped like a penis, saying "do it" in front of the wrong group of cool kids, or dropping an unused tampon in front of others. I now bite, and I bite with purpose.

Or, tacos. I seriously don't remember the last time I ordered a taco. How do people eat these in public? The only times I've ever really dared to eat them has been in the privacy of my own home, and even then I'm frustrated and embarrassed. Not only do you have to cock your head at an insanely ridiculous angle, but at least 87% of what I was going for gets stuck to my cheek, on my boobs, on my shirt, and in my lap, and I'm left with oily orange meat grease dripping down a side of my mouth. Boys really are going to stop reading this, huh. Yet some people have absolutely no qualms with tacos, and eat them like I now eat a banana- worry and mess-free. I've learned that I like burritos though, eaten with a fork and knife.

Food: Part 1

There are lots of different kinds of foods that cause different people anxiety for different reasons. Over the course of a few days, I'd like to go over a few of them.

1. Food that everyone looks bad eating.

Like, popcorn. Every time I go to the movies, popcorn is always part of the equation even though I'm not necessarily hungry. That said, I don't know how to eat it without looking like I'm starving. You never just pop one piece in at a time. Instead, you're entire palm is flat against your mouth as you shovel in as much as physically possible. And not only is it the world's single loudest food ever, but we're forced to eat it during the most quiet moments of life. It's not just loud to eat though, it's also loud to take. I try extra hard not to hit the sides of the bag when I reach in, going in like my hand is a professional diver in slow motion. But once I'm in, thats when the decision-making really gets tough. Do I go for just a few kernels but have to reach in more often? Or do I go in for a good 4-second scoop and wiggle that lands me a huge handful so I won't have to reach in for at least another 15 seconds? And there is no other situation where it is okay for me to bang hands with my DATE because both of us are trying to beat each other into the bag. Like, where is my shame? Just because its dark doesn't mean the calories don't count. And how is it acceptable for me to be still chewing one handful as I reach in for another? Here's a better question: Should I be concerned about my image when I'm shoveling in another handful while I literally have pieces of popcorn sitting in my hair/cleavage/between my legs?



Because I'm not.

Class break from hell

Last summer I was taking an elective for grad school, and halfway through the class we would get a break. I usually used this time to go down to the food court for a coffee or soda. The buildings had these elevators that were only accessible during the regular fall and spring semesters. Since that was closed, I decided to take the stairway nearest those elevators, thinking it would bring me to the same spot.

Ahem. It did not take me to the same spot. I walked down three flights of stairs, but the lower i climbed, the less finished the staircase became. Finally I came to the concrete first floor, and realized I was in some sort of back-area construction room. This wasn't right. Maybe I went down one flight too many. So I traveled back up to the 2nd floor, only to find that I was locked out. A panic rushed over me as I realized I may very well be locked in the stairwell. I tried every door all the way up to the 8th floor, and found I was locked behind every single one of them. After coming to terms with the fact that I was literally trapped in there at 8:00pm on a summer night with barely any students in the building, I decided crying was the next best move. Then I realized I had my phone. And called my parents.

Now before I go any further, I'm sure you all have your own brilliant ideas about what I should have done. I did try banging on that door, numerous times, but with my self-consciousness at its peak, I was simply too humiliated to bang on the door while yelling, "HELP. HELP ME. IM STUCK IN THE STAIRWELL IS ANYONE THERE PLEASE HELP." It's the same situation as talking while the elevator door closes halfway through your sentence: So embarrassing. Or having to respond after knocking on someone's door and they yell, "who is it?" God, I hate that.

Anyway, after realizing that my dad was probably not the right person to call, I also decided calling 9-1-1 was not the appropriate measure. So I 4-1-1'd Emerson, only to listen to a voice message tell me just how closed they were. But right at the end of that message, the voice turned into that of an angel and said, "for emergencies, call -----" Boom, calling. Apparently, that WAS 9-1-1. So first I had to convince them this wasn't an emergency, but then I had to convince them that I was real, and wasn't making a prank call. Twenty minutes later, two police men opened up Stairwell B to find me sitting behind the door. I then returned to class45 minutes late, and reported what had just happened, but no one laughed or reacted at all. I sat in my seat, sweating obviously, and decided I hated everyone in class. Minus Sarah Shugars. At the risk of looking fat for taking the elevator 3 floors, I will now ride elevators, all the time, til the day I die.

Thank you.

Animals: God's 4-legged jokes on me

Welp, here it is: I am not an animal lover.

Please don't show me pictures of your pets
I do not want to pet your dog
Don't let your cat sleep in the same room as me
Once, I got a fish, but then became afraid of it
It literally blows my mind I see someone let their dog lick their face and/or mouth
I think before all dogs are born, God tells them that if they are lucky, they will find the most magical place on earth. And when do they find that area in between Lani's legs, to never, ever leave it
I don't really feel bad when your pet goes to the vet, but I'll make a sad face
Animal hair on my coat is the single most disgusting thing ever
I was once humped by a dog, and was left with a white mess on my jeans. Thank you Cubby
I stayed up through the night once, not moving an inch, because Jessica's cat was in the room and she warned me he pounces on things that move
I have never won a stare-down with a cat. And never want to
When I see a dog pooping I dry heave
I have the world's worst act-like-you're-not-nervous-even-though-you're-horribly-petrified-right-now" look to give to big dogs. It does not fool them
Lady bugs don't make the cut, either
When I wrote out a list of qualities and characteristics my perfect man would have, "not liking/having pets" was one of them
I have, not once but twice, been joined in the bathroom stall by a seeing-eye dog who's owner doesn't quite know where it is. It's really hard to concentrate with a big dog resting his head against your ankles, just watching you...

Friends, do not hold this against me.

Period.

I remember the first time I found out about periods. I was 9, chatting with my older almost-cousin Adrienne, who back then was my gateway to adolescent knowledge. I was horrified, and spent the rest of that night going to the bathroom every hour, convinced God had chosen that night to punish me by turning me into a woman. He hadn't.

But a year later he did do me the favor...which just so happened to be a good 2 years before most normal girls. So that made for a fun couple of elementary school years. Not only was I four inches taller than every other girl, with a C-cup, but my stall was the only one that echoed crinkly wrapper noises. And those were the days before tampons...not because I'm old, but because I had neither the physical nor the mental capacity required to use one. As a 10-year-old, purses weren't an acceptable accessory, so I had to get creative in carrying my tools around. I've always kicked myself for wearing such boy-ish, baggy clothes when I was younger. But now I realize it served a great purpose, as it allowed me to get to the bathroom without people seeing the bulge of maxipads in my jean pockets. Worried about people being able to see that you're wearing a pad? No problem, just throw a flannel shirt around your waist! One day, when I finally mastered the use of tampons, one somehow fell out of my bag. When one of the popular girls pointed it out, I joined in, a little too loudly, with an "EW WHOS IS THAT." I will offer this piece of advice though: while on your period, do not wear white legging shorts on awards day.

But through the years, I've come to stop hating my period and actually fully embrace it. In fact, it's almost like a celebration. Sure, you feel gross for a week, but ahz not having a baby! So here's to you, period, ...hoping you'll stick around for awhile.

Here she comes...

Miss Americaaaaa. You'd think a homeless, middle aged man singing this to you as you're exiting Dunkin Donuts wouldn't actually flatter you. Sadly, today I found that it did.

I was also flattered when my ex-nextdoor neighbor, the mortal-combating, bare-chested, recovering drug addict who lives in a world not quite made up of reality, looked into my eyes as I stepped out of my house one day and said, "You are BEAUTIFUL." He quickly became my favorite crazy neighbor that I was only slightly scared of.

I'm apprehensive about admitting this one, as I'll probably disappoint some people and offend others. But, I have a strange relationship with truck drivers. Every time a truck driver slows down to drive next to me, yells something gross, or honks that humiliatingly loud horn, I give him a dirty look that, frankly, could use a little more practice on my part. But every time I pass a truck driver who doesn't look at me, I feel somehow offended, as if I've unfairly been overlooked. Like, hello, I'm practically Miss-Freakin-America over here.

Which just goes to show how extremely desperate I must be for compliments, no matter what the source. ...clearly.

A Begger's Plea

So I think I've had enough people 'request' I write about topics for me to put it out to the world that I am, in fact, taking requests... especially female requests. That's who I'm thinking my real, loyal audience is going to be. Because boys just don't seem to feel embarrassed about anything, from hairy butts to big stomachs to the inability to grow facial hair. Plus, no matter what, they always look good in jeans.

I'd also like to take this time to ask, or beg really, that if you read this semi-regularly, you could go on up there to the right and 'Follow' me. Give a fake name, I don't care. You won't get notifications or emails either. That way I know whether I'm just talking to myself and a few of my cousins, which very well may be the case, or if this may actually be something worth wasting my (and your) time on.

And thirdly, I'd like to ask how one recovers, socially and psychologically, after publicly begging people to read something one has written. Tank ya.

Knock knock

Someone's in here! Hold on! One minute! Seriously, how many times does someone have to knock on my dressing or bathroom door before I figure out the best way to respond? No matter what I say, I always feel humiliated. Tonight I was changing for Zumba and a girl knocked on the door... i said "Sorry! Ope! Um!." An apology, right into my oh+oops combo, and then enough weird sounds for her to figure out she had to use another room. What I don't understand is when people knock on stall doors. Can't you just look for some feet? When that's the case, I give a "Yup!"... or sometimes I phrase it like I think they're knocking purposefully,"Yup?" Stupid. One-stall bathrooms are bad too, you have to yell extra loud. One time I must've responded with something that wasn't quite clear, not surprisingly. But the woman actually said, "what?" ...Does it really matter? You heard me respond with something, I am not a talking toilet animal, nor are these walls able to speak, so just hold it in and wait. The worst is at work when the custodian gives a knock and asks if its clear, because you know everyone can hear your response since the door is open. I've contemplated just staying quiet, but figured him finding me in the stall would be much more painful then telling him to wait a sec. I guess I should be thankful though, Lord knows some people don't stop at a closed door. Is there ANYTHING more humiliating then getting walked in on? And there's just nothing you can say or do to recover from it either. One time, I had to pee so bad that I actually threw my head back and closed my eyes. When I woke up to the world again a few seconds later, I realized my stall door was wide open, and people had seen me sitting like that. Bathroom Fail.

A Clarification

"If people didnt know what u looked like theyd think ud be obesee ahhahah" -Maria Caz

I'm pretty sure I don't have any followers who don't know what I look like, but now I'm afraid this may be necessary:

Let the record show that I am, in fact, not obese.


Thank you.

Training Season Part 2

During another fall, I decided to join the swim team. My mum was so excited for me she went out and bought me a swim cap. The team wore sleek little black caps, but I was in for a surprise when I opened that package, wasn't I mum! She picked out a cream-colored cap, that dipped down below my ears with flowers and a STRAP. So that's how I made my debut appearance at swim practice the first day. Then came my first swim meet. I've never swam like that in my life, and apparently my body knew it, because it wouldn't allow me to pull myself out of the pool. I just kept tumbling back in. My entire body was limp and shaking as I was literally stuck in the pool as the race was still continuing. Finally, I managed to swing a leg over the side and roll my body out of the water. After that nightmare, I actually started to do pretty well, ...but there were still times I'd misjudge my distance from the wall and flip too late for the turn, hitting my butt into the wall rather than my feet. Or I'd flip too early, go to push off the wall and miss completely, legs pushing into open water and body not going anywhere. I never did master the pull-cap-over-goggles move that prevented goggles from flying off my head when I dove in. And of course there was the time I, once again, fake vomited to get out of a meet. You'd be surprised what fake-vomiting can do for you. So, there I was at the last swim meet of the season, I'd made it! I was up on that board waiting for my turn, trying to adjust my cap and goggles when, CCCHHHRRRR, my cap split right down the middle into two flaps. But it was too late for me to do anything, my teammate slapped the wall and I dove in. Goggles were now sideways on my face, my cap flapping on both sides of my head like droopy dog ears or retarded fish, and I'm choking on water. Naturally, I missed the wall on my turn, swallowed more water, and finished my lap in terrible time. Needless to say, I spent the next fall season just running. Running is enough.