5 Places I Must Travel Before I Die

(You could also call this my bucket list, except the only bucket list items I have are travel destinations.)

I've been thinking about my top travel destinations often. 2016 is already drawing to a close (what the actual f...WHERE DID THE TIME GO?!) and I'm not getting any younger. Sooo as I stare my quarter-life crisis in the face, I'm compiling my shortlist of places to go ASAP while I'm young, spry, and kickin'.

Hopefully, I'll save enough $ to go sometime hella soon. Carpe diem/"seize the carp," or something like that.


1. Japan
During the past few years I've only visited westernized destinations--i.e. Europe and the Caribbean. Don't get me wrong, these places are nothing to scoff at! But I want to go somewhere that challenges me; I want to feel like I'm on another planet. And Japanese culture is so fascinating. Even walking down the street there must be incredible.

Must do: I'd like to see Buddhist temples, behold the cherry blossoms in spring, and try the weirdest foods I can get my paws on.

Lesgoo!

*courtesy cheapoguide.com, the photo is not mine, blahblah

2. Sweden/Scandinavia
Ever been to IKEA? Isn't it the happiest place on earth?? Therefore, Sweden (or any Scandinavian nation) must be pretty rad too. And it's one of the happiest places on earth. I'd like to see the closest thing to a utopia, wouldn't you? (Fun fact, I used to go to IKEA with my friend in high school so we could pretend we were in Sweden. MUCH cheaper than the real thing.)

Must do: Gorge on meatballs, pretend I'm solving a murder a la "Girl with a Dragon Tattoo," and see the Aurora Borealis. If I can somehow stay in one of those cool igloo hotels that let you see the stars, even better.

So otherworldly.
(This pic also ain't mine)

3. Italy 
 I've actually been to Italy three times, which is a privileged statement, I know, I know. Two of those times were just for Venice, which isn't bad, but it's touristy as heck. I'd like to get my butt further south. I'm talking Naples/Isle of Capri/Amalfi Coast, blah blah. Warm weather and delicious food, ahoy.

Must do: Visit a winery, see the human remains fossilized in volcanic ash at Pompeii, and chill by the seaside.

Is this insanely gorgeous or what?
courtesy themostperfectview.com

4. Bali 

Never have I seen such striking pictures as I have with Bali. Popularized in "Eat, Pray, Love," it almost has a mysterious, spiritual quality to it. If you're not into that romantic fooey, then let the money talk: It's super cheap. My friend Jillian went and said the dollar went far...to the point she was able to book an all-day chaffeur and watch fireworks on the beach with a lobster dinner for only $30. Dude.

Must do: Ride an elephant, get some badass photos of me among jungle foliage and temples, and have exactly the same experience as Jillian. Maybe I'll even do a bit of yoga.

Mountains, beaches and temples, oh my.
from bali.indonesia.com

5. Toss up between Hawaii, South America (anywhere), and more Southeast Asia.

Plz help. Impart your knowledge/recommendations and vote.

Hawaii: Justin Timberlake once said, "Hawaii is the closest thing to heaven on earth." And he's rich, you know. Which means he can go many places. And has been to many a-place. My question is: Is Hawaii a cliche, or is it really that fantastic?

I hear it smells like pineapples...

South America, literally anywhere: Because hello, it's gorgeous and the culture is awesome. Maybe I could even summon some of my old Spanish skillz.

Machu Picchu. 

Southeast Asia: Thailand please, for more elephant riding, world-class beaches and delicious AF food.

Dat water doe.
Courtesy allianceabroad.com

Some other honorable mentions: Australia (if I could handle the plane ride), Aruba, Curacao, Egypt (once things calm down), and Alaska.

Where are your top picks on your "must travel" list?

9 Proven Signs You're Awkward AF

This post was brought to you by the coolest link you'll see all day: the Blog Topic Generator. Enter three nouns that interest you and poof, an array of blog ideas pertaining those nouns will spring up. BAD. ASTH.

Look at these great, original ideas!

So, I'm rolling with today's suggestion and put a twist on it. NINE PROVEN SIGNS YOU'RE AWKWARD AF.. As an awkward person, I consider myself somewhat of an expert on this topic.

So here's how you know you're awkward:

1. You can't be too adventurous. Us awkward people gotta plan our every move so we don't suffer a misstep. You can't throw a wrench in our plan!

2. Don't expect a quick comeback. My weird-as-hell brain tends to go to odd places. Just see this post about me reading a Groupon code.

3. Dancing took some time to master (if it happened at all). Personally, I've stopped caring how I look. I understand I'm a white girl and dance like one, and I wear that with pride. (Isn't it about having fun, after all? If someone acts like a d-bag because you're having a good time, well, they just cemented their d-bag status.)

4. Learning to date is hell. Apparently there are all these unspoken rules about what you can and cannot say, and I tended to stick to the "cannot say" things. I also sputtered some interesting new words. Once I tried to tease a love interest about being white and pale. I ended up calling him "whale." Other interesting fuckups: sent texts directed to the wrong person, gave TMI about feminine probs, and spazzed out to the point I got dumped. Yeehaw!

5. Reading aloud is the hardest damn thing ever. It's like that time I went hiking. Constant tripping over my words, stuttering, and interesting new words (read above). Not to mention my mouth dries up and my mouth starts clicking. Have you had that happen? It's. hell.

6. Networking = no. No, just no. No small talk, no talking about myself, no pretending to care about what you do. Just no.

7. You always say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Like that time I asked my boss if he wanted "sloppy seconds" in regards to my uneaten Indian food. Also, nervous laughter when someone tells you someone close to them died. IT'S NERVOUS LAUGHTER; IT'S NOT REAL.

8. Meeting new people blows. Like, how do I know that you'll be okay with my bad jokes? That's why social media is a safe haven.

9. You let things happen to you. Ever ordered anything, get the wrong order, and just roll with it because you're not assertive? And if you ARE assertive, you just plain suck at it? I know I have!


So there you have it! There are of course many, many more, but I want to hear: What awkward habits do YOU bring to the table?

That Time I Got High (Mountain Climbing)

A whole month and a half later, I realized it might just be “high” time (get it? nyuk nyuk) to recount my experiences in beautiful Colorado last month!

(Cue the hackneyed jokes: “That John Denver is full of shit, man.”)

To be concise, I’ll say this: A lot happened. So I’ll focus on my greatest adventure:

MY FIRST MOUNTAIN HIKE.
(Well, first in 16 years. So basically first.)

We were planning to hike part of a mountain adjacent to Pike’s Peak, but there were “dangerous trees” falling down, or blood-crazed bears (or something), that closed down our intended trail. So we whipped out our phones, looked up the nearest mountain and went for it.

“We” decided to do an advanced trail. I didn’t think that’d be the best considering we weren’t acclimated to the altitude (or I wasn’t), but that’s what happened. To be sure, I did want those picturesque, panoramic views…so I went along for the ride grueling climb.

What started as me leading the pack ended with me trailing behind, winded, heart pounding, legs wobbling, and bile rising with each additional foot of altitude. This advanced trail required us to get on all fours at some points. It was also incredibly steep. 

Now, hear me out: I consider myself a relatively fit person. I strive to work out 4-5 times a week. HOWEVER, if you can’t acclimate to altitude, throw it all out the window. It doesn’t matter how fit you are at sea level when you’re 8k feet high. I could NOT get enough air. 

This was the progression of my altitude sickness on the hike:

1. Denial: “Whew, I feel it! This will be tough. I’ll get over it!”
   
   
2. Struggle: (winded) “This isn’t getting any easier. In fact, this is DAMN hard.”
   
   
3. Persuasion: (Barely breathing) “Hey, guys. Why …are we…going so…fast? Can we stop a sec?”
   
   
4. Demands: “GUYS. STOP. STAHHHHHP!!!” (+ inability to get out more than monosyllabic words.)
   
   
5. Suffocation: (Can’t even speak) (nearly vomits)
   
   
6. Explosive diarrhea. ‘Nuf said.

Me.

Thankfully the sixth stage didn’t happen until I got to the top of the mountain. The rigors of the hike caught up with me (we went SUPER fast up steep hills). Instead of enjoying the glorious views, I squeezed my butt cheeks together and scarfed down water and trail mix for energy. Also gulped tons of air.

Thankfully I had a handy selfie stick and captured some awesome views anyway. I’d probably never get an experience like this if I had to be self-motivated, so it’s truly a once-in-a-lifetime thing for me.

Beautous nature

All smiles

How I really felt

The climb down the summit was MUCH nicer. I could feel the breeze ruffling my hair, soak in the gorgeous weather, listen to the babbling brooks, stop to grab flowers…

BUT, the one downside? The gravel + the steep drops. This caused Harry to “eat it” a few times. I LOL’d but helped him up like a good wife. That’s when karma proved a very real thing.

I was going down the trail while other hikers were going up, a man and a child. “Shit, shit, shit!” I shouted. I slipped while attempting to get out of their way—and fell on my ass, sliding down the path like it was a waterslide, and tumbled onto the mountainside.

Now, I wasn’t in a precarious position where I’d fall to my death or anything. There were branches and shrubs that made it less slippery. I WAS hanging off the side, however, with my white knuckles gripping the path. The little boy that I tried to avoid bumping into on my way down ended up rushing to my side.

“Here, grab my hand!” he shouted.

I did grab his hand, and Jonathan’s, who for some reason was the only other person who rushed to my aid.

(Good job, hubs.)

(I think he and Regan were laughing at me.)

(#karma)

Kind of like nearly falling into the pit of Mt. Doom

I shakily stood up and brushed the dirt off my pants. “Thanks,” I told the kid, as if he did something minor like hold the door open for me. His chest puffed out proudly, however, and I heard him tell his adult companion, “I saved her life!!”

Glad to see my embarrassment helped an awkward prepubescent kid gain some confidence. Now that’s sacrifice.

Anyway, I finished drenched in sweat, tired AF, out of breath, and that’s what she said. 

I needed a "Sam" of my own

Climbing a mountain was torturous on the way up, but if I could do it regularly, I think it would be an awesome way to stay in shape. It’s cool seeing your progress as you ascend to the summit. It was also exhilarating getting to go to the bathroom on the side of the mountain path, behind a rock, while other hikers walked by totally unaware that I was pants-less. Come and get it, boys.

(Peeing on my shoes because I'm not good at outdoor peeing? Not so cool.)

Overall, though…fantastic way to stay in shape and to appreciate the breathtaking mountain scenery of Colorado. Too bad I sucked at it. Go climb a mountain sometime, y'all.


**Note: none of these images/gifs are mine, and I claim no ownership of them. Don't hurt me, people of the Internet!

Why I'm an Unhappy Camper

First impressions make all the difference, and unfortunately for me, "roughing it" is...well, rough.

I recently spotted some gorgeous pictures on Facebook from my friends' camping trip in Michigan. It nearly made me rethink camping, until I remembered my experience.

1. Going camping is about "getting away from it all"--if you're lucky. Unfortunately, when we went up to our campsite in Tahlequah, we were too close to it all. By that I mean each campsite had an allotted space--a tight amount of space--and we could see the other campers just a few feet away.
   
   Dude, I don't want to hear other campers' drunken fireside conversations. Away with human beings, bring on the critters! (Ish. I'll get to that later.)
   
2. Where you set up your tent will determine the rest of your trip. Again, we had a small camp space. That left us nearly no option as to where we should set up our tent. SO, that meant that I slept on a tree root on all night. And by slept, I mean "slept"--I did not catch any Z's on such an uncomfortable spot. I tossed, turned, and thought about using a Swiss knife to saw off the root. That would've at least been a more productive use of my sleepless night.
   
   The next day I was a zombie, so that made the day significantly less fun.
   
   
3. Damn raccoons. I almost went into cardiac arrest when a critter--I'm guessing a raccoon--brushed against the tent at night. I needed to unzip the tent and piss but holy crap, that left my backside at the mercy of a raccoon infuriated that humans were infringing on its terrain!
   
   I risked life, limb and a UTI thanks to this raccoon asserting its presence.
   
   
4. Brain-eating amoebas are scary AF. We took a dip in the nearby stream, but I couldn't help but worry a splash got in my nostril. While I didn't suffer this crazy fate, the stream was probably responsible for item 5...
5. The next day I had a full-body rash. I also got some weird-ass virus. God only knows what I had a reaction to. 

But hey, everything happens for a reason. That first camping trip helped me learn something valuable about myself: I'm a Marriott girl. 

Or maybe a cabin with a toilet is a happy medium.

Awkward Moment #578

Let me clear something up from the get-go: I’m not intimidated by successful women. Rather, I’m intimidated by people who have the power to not just fire me, but eliminate my department. So upper-level execs tend to terrify me.

This is essential background information to my awkward moment of the day. So, we have a new Chief Marketing Officer. She is very upbeat, human, and generally not terrifying at all. But at the same time, I cannot for the life of me have a normal encounter with her.

We were both in the bathroom one day and emerged from the stalls at the same time. We washed our hands side by side. I have this strange mental block when it comes to talking in the bathroom, so when she asked how I was, I probably came across as a cold bitch with my short responses. (And let’s be real, it’s disarming to talk with an executive after doing ya biz, amiright?)

And just last week, she had a meeting with the Marketing department complete with a celebration of our accomplishments and…cake balls! Now that’s nice. I wanted to tell her so.

That’s why when she was walking past my cubicle…at the same time I was leaving it…and we almost COLLIDED, the following exchange went down:

CMO, laughing good-naturedly: “Oh, I’m sorry!”

Me, laughing nervously: “Haww…THANKS FOR THE CAKE BALLS!”

I even did an awkward pointing hand motion, like “HEYYY.” (I’m reenacting this in my chair, and I don’t know how to describe it, but you’ll have to ask me for it sometime.)

God, any normal person would say, “Excuse me,” or “Sorry about that.” Instead I laughed like a dork and said THANKS FOR THE CAKE BALLS while pointing and guffawing.

The worst part? The same collision happened the next day, and I shouted from around the corner, “We just always bump into each other!”

She managed a small smile.

…I’m totally gonna be fired.

My Epic Home Fail (Turned Right)

Right when I was just starting to love Home Depot, I suffered an awkward situation yesterday, Easter Sunday. And in my world, that means there ain't NO going back.

I'm trying to find a paint swatch and hear a voice behind me yelling, "So you into sailing?"

No one answers. Someone must be on the phone, I think. 

NOPE. The guy working the paint counter suddenly appears beside me like a magician and repeats, "So you into sailing?" I give him a blank stare (not the ice breaker I'm accustomed to, after all), and he clarifies: "Your tattoo!" 

"Oh." I hate when people ask about tattoos; it's personal. Plus, let's face it, I feel like a total dork saying, "IT'S MY 'FRIEND SHIP'. MY BFF HAS ONE TOO." So I ramble about how I randomly got it (false) and why regret tattoos because they're already on you forever? So just deal...blah blah, ramble ramble.

Anyway, I'm already fed up by the time I tell them I need a high-gloss paint in red delicious. See, I had a huge chipped area around the doorknob that needed touching up. 

"We don't do samples in gloss," he says. 

"Ugh, seriously? What's the cheapest I can get that's not a sample?"

"A quart." 

Okay, no. So I get the flat paint in the 3-dollar sample size. At least it's the same color. 

When I go home and slap the paint on the door, I'm in for a treat. It looks NOTHING like the other paint:

I gasp. Shit! I can't stop! I was too confident and heaped too much paint on. I have to at least attempt an even application of this wrong color, or else I'd have three colors going on. I dart my head left and right to make sure Hairy won't round the corner and witness this monstrosity. 

(The natural next step? Posting this to SnapChat.) 

Thankfully, after 30 minutes or so, the paint dried and looked MUCH better: 

This should've taught me to be a little more careful: do more test runs, have a sense of propriety (using gloss paint with gloss paint, no ifs, ands, or buts, etc). In fact, it just made me cockier. All's well that ends well, right? #winning

Why You Should Never Throw a Surprise Party

Surprise parties are a risky little game. Naturally on the perfect world of television sitcoms, they go off without a hitch.

This might be a reality check for some of you, but lemme tell ya: they do not. Not in my experience, regardless of if you’re the recipient or the planner.

ON THE RECEIVING END (this sounds like a little something else, haw haw)

It was my freshman year of college. I was young and naïve. I told my new friends it would be rad if I got a surprise party sometime. But on my actual birthday? Come on.

First off, my actual birthday was a rainy, dreary day the Addams family would rejoice in. I spent my afternoon trudging through a dry reading assignment—and fell asleep. When I awoke, it was time for my birthday dinner. I had chosen a place and everything.

Groggily, I climbed out of bed and dressed myself. My friend texted me, asking if I was ready. Yup, I was ready—for a quiet dinner of thoughtful discussion, maybe.

I lethargically opened the door and was assaulted by punks screaming HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY!!

My reaction was a bit delayed; after all, I had been sleeping.

“Oh…wow…damn!”

What followed is me trying to get into party mode after I was in quiet, introspective mode. An attendee even told me I looked out of place at my own party.

Point being, surprise party recipients can’t put their party pants on.

ON THE GIVING END (arguably the worse position to be in—we ARE talking about parties, right?)

First I had to kick Harrison out of the apartment.

“I’m having a girls’ night,” I argued.

“Fine,” he said. Later he grudgingly made plans with a friend about 30 minutes away. Whoops.

Within an hour of his departure, the surprise party attendees arrived and we had hastily erected the party décor. I was ready; we were all ready—minus Hairy.

“Harry,” I texted, everyone waiting with baited breath around me. “Come back over. Girls’ night is canceled.”

“I’m hanging with Taylor,” he said.

This wasn’t going to be easy. “Come back, I feel sick,” I pleaded.

“Maybe later,” he said.

I couldn’t cope with an unofficial arrival time. I pulled out the big guns. “I’m vomiting though—I’m having a bad migraine. I need you to bring some Excedrin. We ran out!”

“Ughhh, I’ve been drinking though!” he argued.

By this point I was corresponding with his friend, who sent an LOL and some clarification: “He’s only had two beers!!” (Why was he letting him drink? He was in on this whole operation!)

Taylor was a bump on a log. After dramatic arguing, Harrison finally left. By this point everyone had been over for two hours. Our partiers were not in a party mood anymore. People were yawning.

Shit.

I ran around like a football coach, giving a pep talk and slapping faces, and tried to reinvigorate the party. It slightly worked.

Buuuuut Harrison finally walked in, we yelled "surprise" and all that nonsense. With mouth agape, Harrison happily exclaimed, “LET’S GET DRUNK.”

So not a total loss, especially considering I got engaged at Harry's surprise party (yay alcohol). But was it worth the ulcer? …Well, I guess so.

My Cat from Hell

Stimpson J. Cat, the most reckless of kitties

Don't let his precious face fool you--this is the face of a stinker, a serial destroyer of worlds.

I swear I could write a book on the cat-astrophes that Stimpy causes. It would be the feline version of Marley and Me.

This very morning, for example, this asshole decided to jump in the pantry and knock bottles of Tamari soy sauce and sesame oil off of the shelf. The first bottle shattered and soy sauce flooded our utility room. Then he somehow managed to gnaw the cap off of the sesame oil, and I STILL don't know where it is.

Stimpy being Stimpy, he decided to jump in the puddle and soak his paws. He then sprung onto the counter tops and ran around the house. So yeah, paw prints were EVERYWHERE.

The last thing I wanted to do while half-asleep at 7 a.m. was to clean up this mess. BP's oil spill had nothing on this.

To add insult to injury, Stimpy decided to supervise while we slaved away to restore order to our kitchen. When that got boring, he thought he'd kick back and chew on our television cords. (!!!!!!!!)

(I joked about burning the house down after finding an oriental cockroach in it, but shit got too real when he pulled that stunt.)

Not gonna lie, Hairy and I are pretty beside ourselves. Ever since we moved Stimpy has been acting anxious and mischievous. I'm going to try to remind myself of better days long past to calm myself down.

People say dogs help them stay in shape. But I bet they can't "cat" in yoga like Stimpy can. (He's lacking when it comes to cow, though.)

Wake up and feed me, hooman.

Occasionally Stimpy will rally Twinkie to be an a-hole too. This pic is from when they decided to stare me down in hopes of feeding them. I call it their gangster rap album cover.

Did you know Stimpy is an aspiring traveler too?

He sucks sometimes, but I'm stuck with him. At least he looks dapper AF in a bow tie.

What annoying things do your pets do? Anyone want to start a support group for parents of bad kitties?

3 Sexy Men

Rainy days are Justin Timberlake days for some reason--maybe it's the fact the last syllable of his name connotes a body of water. When a coworker asked what I was listening to, I responded, "JT, he's my number two. Or was, before I found out that he uses the word 'bae.'"

(Shudder, amirite?)

With the news that Aaron Paul was welcomed to the cast of the upcoming Dark Tower movie, I pondered over my love for him and my former love for Justin Timberlake. Which again got me thinking: who IS my top 3 at this point in time?

My definition:

Top Three (n): Three celebrities you'd be allow to cheat on, preferably with approval from your significant other.

My hubs, for example, had a thing for Kate Beckinsale in her Underworld days, where she could be found wearing a skintight leather bodysuit. If Kate of that era materialized, I’d tell Harry to go for it. That’s just too good to pass up, ya know?

So without further ado, and after much pondering, here are my top three:

3. Aaron Paul

Aaron Paul isn’t just a pretty face; he starred on the BEST TV show of all time, Breaking Bad. This is objective—it literally is ranked. He was only supposed to appear on the first season, but people loved him too much, and instead he became a foil to Walter White. Jesse, while repeatedly making poor life decisions and often those harmful to others, was ultimately innately good.

And as I mentioned, he’s now starring in a movie adaptation of my favorite book series, The Dark Tower by Stephen King. #winning

2. Charlie Hunnam

This option surprises me, but as they say…girls like those bad boys. And he’s pretty much a psychopath in Sons of Anarchy. I think this also combines my love of unkempt mountain men sorts of guys with pretty blondes.

I really don’t know how to justify this one except I think it’s a mixture of his voice and the ‘tude as Jax Teller in SoA that gets me.

(Funny enough, he was also in the news recently. Superfans who are superjealous of his girlfriend since ’07 have been cursing this girl out and picking her apart…to which he has issued a public note telling fans to stop and harass him instead. Ah, chivalry.)

1. Leonardo DiCaprio

Well duh, if you know me, this is a given. It’s been a part of me since I was 7 years old. He helped me realize at that tender young age that I did, in fact, like men. When I was 9 I watched Titanic every day for a month. Gawd, that is a LOT of death and misery to have ingrained in my impressionable young mind. I couldn’t watch that even twice in one week today.

But seriously, I consider myself a quick judge of character, and I do actually believe we are soul mates. We both give a huge shit about the environment and live for good storytelling. I could go on, but I’m sure you’re sharpening a stick and ready to fight me because YOU are his soul mate. Mmhmm. But really, I do believe this. And I’m sure my therapist BFF would tell me this is a sign of narcissism.

--

In hindsight, is it bad I have a top 3? And that they're all blonde when my husband is most definitely not? Oh well, I'm sure everyone has their own top three whether it's secret or not.

So with that being said, who are YOURS?

The Moment I Became a Man

People measure relationship compatibility through different requirements: the same religion, values, aspirations, blah blah. But here’s a true game changer: DOES YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER KILL BUGS?

I know, I know—how is this an important consideration, you ask? Well, let me tell you.

**I am warning you ahead of time of the profane language in my reenactment below. To maintain a sense of realism, I have decided to keep the f-bombs.**

Last night Harry and I were knackered and prepping for bed at about 10 p.m. I had just brushed my teeth and noticed my fat cat Twinkie pawing something under our dresser.

“She’s so cute,” I coo, watching her head cock to the side as her tail whipped around. Then it occurred to me—what was she playing WITH under that dresser?

Then, as if on cue, it emerged from the shadows. This was the moment in a horror movie where trembling violins screech out an alarming note.

I gasped. Goosebumps burst from my skin.

From under my dresser slithered the biggest, fattest, creepy-crawliest cockroach I’d ever seen.

It was a billion times bigger and hairier than this. And it HISSED.

“HOLY SHIT,” I screamed. “OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT.”

Harry’s head darted to me. “What??” But he couldn’t miss it for long. Out of the corner of his eye was that…thing.

“HOLY FUCK! OH MY GOD!”

“What do I do? What do I do??” I shouted. This would become my mantra for the night. See, the roach was too big to squish. Guts would fly everywhere. We would feel its steely limbs under our shoe with how big and mighty it was.

First things first: I grabbed my hobbit slippers. My feet were bare and vulnerable. The last thing I wanted was to feel the roach crawl over my naked foot.

Then Harry and I bolted the hell out of that room.

The world was fucking ending. We paced in circles; I kept slapping my arm and my ankle. Ghost cockroaches were covering me. My skin was CRAWLING.

“What do we do? Like what the fuck do I actually do?” I repeated.

“I don’t know!” Harry yelled.

“We have to kill it!” (Duh.)

“Yeah, but how??”

 “I don’t know! You go figure it out.” I wanted to stick to the stereotypes and cower in a corner, pointing at the beast, while my hero killed it.

Harry sliced the air with his arms. “No way, nuh-uh! I’m not going back in there!”

“Well I’M not killing it! You’re shittin’ yourself if you think I’m going back in there.”

“We can’t stay here tonight!”
“Well where will we go?”

“I don’t know—a hotel?”

“Let’s kill it with fire!” (The easier option would’ve been to just burn down the whole house, in my opinion.)

Naturally, this went on for a good while. Then I decided to get serious. I plugged in my computer and took this to Facebook. I released all my inner anguish at having my home invaded by God’s worst creation.

While the status was cathartic, no one gave me any good advice. Just a few weak lol’s.

So I weighed my options. The only worse thing than having a cockroach in our home was having it proliferate in our home—in which case, burning the whole house down would indeed be the best solution. And how unfair was that? This was a foe that could survive the nuclear apocalypse. I didn’t stand a chance against that!

“All right, so you go in there, you kill it, and I’ll back you up for emotional support,” I proposed to Harry, who was still shuddering and biting his nails.

“No way. I’m not killing it. YOU kill it and I’ll be your emotional support.”

You know your husband is a weenie when you have to agree to kill the bug from Hades itself.

“Fine.” Lawd help us; our lives were in my hands.

I shook off my desire to numb my pain with vodka shots and picked up my weapon of choice: a vacuum cleaner. I turned off my brain and wondered what awaited me in the room of horrors.

With a shaky inhale, I tiptoed in the room. And almost immediately, I heard it. That’s right, I could HEAR the sound of its slimy legs scuttling on the ground. I die again just thinking about it.

“Turn on the vacuum! I found it!”

The vacuum roared. I charged in, brandishing my weapon and yodeling a battle cry at the top of my lungs.

“DIEEEEEEEEEEE!”

I sucked it up in a second. The deed was done.

The vacuum handle fell with a clatter. Even though the bug was gone, our lifetime trauma had only just begun. We stood around reflecting on what transpired when we heard the familiar scuttling sound...coming from the tube of the vacuum handle.

The bastard was trying to escape!

“TURN THE VACUUM BACK ON!”

He fell backwards, I imagine, and whirled round and round in the belly of the vacuum. After a good few minutes, we flipped it off.

I doubted the cockroach was still alive. “His kind is gonna outlive planet earth,” as I reminded Harry.

My hubs was quiet—a man changed. His eyes were empty, and that’s when I realized he was incapable of making a decision. When I recognized this, I knew what we had to do.

“Outside. This vacuum is going outside.”

With that, we tossed the vacuum on our patio. It was supposed to rain, but at least we wouldn’t share the same habitation with the cockroach. It was finished. Glory hallelujah.

I don’t know how I did it, but some minutes later I began to decompress. It was probably some stray cockroach. I didn’t have the energy to ponder the possibilities of a whole cockroach family crouching in our house. Harry, on the other hand? He was still tense and giving himself a hug in a corner.

“Let’s go to bed, Harry.”

“No. There could be cockroaches in there.”

“Well what do you want to do, stand guard all night?”

“No.”

“Come to bed,” I insisted. To prove the world was a safe place to be again, I did a cockroach inspection in our bed sheets. All clear.

“Come on.” I patted the mattress.

He finally conceded, but only if we could spoon.

Guys, this is my 28-year-old husband. I am the world’s biggest wimp, but I felt like Indiana Jones as I consoled him into the night. 

So there you have it. Marry someone who can kill bugs so you don’t have to. When you have two people with a phobia of cockroaches in one house, nothing is going to happen—and you’re going to destroy your vacuum cleaner.

Dropping a Deuce at Work

It happens. You spend 8 hours (or more) at work per day. If you’re gonna hold it in, well, let’s just say the strength of your bowels would give Arnold a run for his money. You could drive home, but that’s a waste of gas (pun intended). You could hobble to the farthest bathroom in your building to reduce the risk of seeing a colleague, but clenched buttocks make this a dreadful task.

So you take a risk and go the bathroom near your cubicle. You evacuate your colon as quickly as possible—before anyone can walk in. But the stench hovers in the air like a heavy cloud of China smog. It ain’t going nowhere.

And suddenly, the door swings open and someone marches in. Crap! You think, with the awful realization that the latest visitor is probably thinking the same thing. You try to hurry. You wipe as much as you can, but it takes a miserable while.

With horror, you hear the other person is finishing up in the adjacent stall.

You flush and get the hell out of there, but of course, at the same time, the visitor emerges from their own stall. You make eye contact.

“Hi,” you say, your voice squeaking like a prepubescent child. As if your dignity hadn’t eroded already. You give a lopsided smile before quickly rinsing your hands without soap and sprinting the hell out.

...This may or may not be autobiographical.

5 Things That Make Me Uncomfortable

As the queen of awkwardness, it’s hard to narrow down the situations that make me most uncomfortable. But I saw this topic on TheLady Okie’s blog and the result was too hilarious. On that note, I have to steal a couple of her answers because she speaks the gospel. So…sorry for the lack of originality.

1. Hugging
   
   I’m sure Freud would have a field day psychoanalyzing me on this one. I guess I never grew up in a super “huggy” family; our love language is taking tequila shots together (seriously). I’m also not from the South. So when I came to Texas, I was more than a little bewildered.

I lack practice and I’m also stiff. People think I hate them, but really, I avoid hugs so people don’t know I’m the world’s worst hugger. And you know what? Texas isn’t a very friendly society to non-huggers. I’ve been called out and harassed by crunchy yoga teachers who don’t let you leave the class without a hug. WHY hug while we’re drenched in sweat from hot yoga?

But that’s another story.

Bottom line: People, it ain’t you, it’s me. I'll still hug you if you initiate...but I’ll probably hide so I don’t have to. Compromise: I propose we show our love by taking tequila shots or making fun of people together.

2. Knowing when to say hi

This is the most Seinfeld thing about me. Don’t you hate running into an acquaintance and wondering if you should say hi, simply grin, or give a half-assed half-smile? I usually avoid the situation altogether and whip out my cell phone. “Oh, sorry, something SUPER engrossing just appeared on my news feed. Tooootally didn’t notice you.”

I also don’t know if I should say hi to the receptionists or not at work. When I started, I made a habit of saying hi on my way in. But then some mornings I felt antisocial. I couldn’t just STOP, could I? Not after saying hi every morning for the past 50 days!  Solution? I decided to take another entrance to work.

3. Going to parties where I know no one/have to meet people the first time
   
   Small talk ain’t my strong suit. I always want to rush intimacy. My catch phrase when I’m drunk is, “Hi, I’m Ashley and I want to know your deepest darkest secret.” So yeah, that doesn’t always go over well. I try to stumble through “normal” conversations…but usually (always) fail miserably.
   
   At a work party for one of our new web developers, I went up to her and said, “Tell me 5 fun facts about you.” Kind of intense, right? She thought so!
   
   So, please, don’t leave me alone at a party where I have to get to know someone. It’s hella fail.
   
   
4. Sickness.

Don’t ever tell me you “feel like you’re getting sick.” Wait—I take that back. Do tell me so I can shun you.

I’m a germaphobe and a hypochondriac. I WILL die from the flu; it’s a matter of time. (To be fair, I have an autoimmune disease and shit can escalate quickly.) But I’m still kind of psycho about it.

5. Telephones
   
   

Don’t you love being unable to take physical cues while constantly interrupting one another? That’s all I experience on the telly. And I sound like Ben Stein, so I can’t ever convey my true emotions. I rely on my face for that. BUT YOU CAN’T SEE WHILE WE’RE ON THE PHONE. D’oh.

Even worse is when someone calls me unexpectedly. I HAVE TO PLAN WHAT I’M GOING TO SAY, DARN IT. I’ve totally written a script for phone calls with clients before. Don’t judge.

Now that you think I’m pathetic, let’s get on equal ground here. What 5 things make YOU uncomfortable? (Tell me omg I feel so vulnerable now.)

Sloppy Seconds

I have a tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Unfortunately, this gets me in a pickle during work hours. As my coworker once said, "You're a walking HR violation."

Then there was the time I learned the valuable lesson not to use idioms you don't understand. I learned this the hard way on Diwali, when my eyes were bigger than my stomach and I got two plates full of curry and unnamables.

My boss walked into the conference room as we all finished up our food. I extended the plate to him and said, in a dead-serious tone, without a hint of a smile on my face: "Would you like my sloppy seconds?"

His eyes became as big as the paper plate. It got deafeningly silent.

My coworker later educated me.

"You mean that's *exclusively* a dirty term??" I cried.

"Yeah. How do you not know this? You're 25."

I spent the rest of the month--seriously, a month--deliberating if I should go into my boss's office and apologize posthumously for what turned out to be a horrible comment. But my friends counseled me and helped me see the light: Just pretend it never happened!

Ah, and then there was that time my coworker and I exited an important meeting that our CEO hosted.

"There's an hour of my life I'll never get back," said my coworker, stretching and yawning.

"Yeah, I didn't pay any attention," I replied. "Except maybe during one part. Kind of. No."

Lo and behold, guess who was standing right behind us when we said that. Yup, you guessed it. Do I really need to spell it out for you?

Thankfully we were not fired, and our plans to start our own company did not come to fruition.

The unfortunate part of this whole story? I have many more troubling tales just like this.

Since I feel my PTSD coming on, maybe that's a blog post for another day.

V is for...

I can’t turn my abnormal brain off sometimes. And by that I mean all the time, in all situations.

Today I was trying to use a Groupon and the lady asked me to give the Groupon code. Okay, that’s simple, right?? Except she asked me to use a full word for each letter.

So J as in Jane, G as in garden, etcetera, etcetera. A fun little game, if you think about it. Easy. 

But me? I stumbled through this as if I were climbing a mountain wrought with land mines.

“V as in…as in…”

Vagina. Vagina! screamed my pesky inner voice. Except I didn’t want the lady to think I had Tourette’s. 

“Vuh…vuh…vagin…virgin…virginia!” (This took place over the course of a good 15 seconds.)

“W as in…” (Wunderbar? Weenis?)

“W as in W,” I said. Because you can’t mistake W for any other word. Duh.

“P as in…” Pee pee.  “P-Peter.”

So if there was ever any question before, I just might have Tourette’s. Except not really, because I understand it’s a horrible condition impacting your every day.

Then again, that just might prove my case.