SAA Ep. #14: Losing More than Just Weight

Keep in mind that I'm short (5'3). It will help you put my weight in perspective. And please don't anyone take offense to this. I'm speaking as a girl who has been there (I know how hard it is)...and who still thinks she is there, obviously.

I've never been over 200 lbs., but I was 195 lbs. once. I was 21. I had just been in my sister's wedding, and I was a chubby little maid of honor. I decided then that I needed to lose weight. I lost 35 lbs. and felt great, but you know what? I was still 160 lbs. I was still chubby, just less chubby. And over the next several years, I regained a lot of the weight I lost.

And there's something interesting that happens to a woman when she stops being in her early twenties. She can weigh the same that she did when she was in her early twenties, but the weight can look quite different on an almost thirty year old body.

So at 175 lbs., I was just as heavy as I was when I was 195 lbs. I was wearing the same pant size--16 to 18. I mean, that's just like a couple sizes away from having to shop in the "big girl section." I've never had to shop there, but I've been very close. And I was in denial.

Well, last January, I started paying attention to pictures of myself. I was like, "Whoa! I look fat in all these pictures! Maybe it's NOT just the camera or the angle.... Holy crap! I'm fat!" I decided I wasn't going to be fat anymore. The sad thing is, the major reason for me wanting to lose weight had nothing to do with health issues or just wanting to look nicer. I thought to myself, "Self, if I am going to be an author, I do NOT want people who come to my book signings to think, 'Hey. Hey, look. Hey, look at that. Hey, look at that fat author.'" And because I didn't want people to think of me as a fat author, I decided to lose weight.

And it worked. I watched every single calorie I ate. I exercised. And after about six months, I lost 40 lbs. I got down to a size 8 and weighed 135 lbs (I haven't been that light since middle school...and I'm wearing a pant size less than what I wore in middle school). It took me 30 years, but I FINALLY lost my baby fat...seriously. I had been fat all my life...but not anymore.

Before (I'm the fat one in the sunglasses, obviously)

After!

So I'm not fat anymore (though I'm currently dieting again because I think I can do even better...aiming for 120lbs if my body lets me do it healthily), and that's awesome. But I have to say that being not fat anymore has some drawbacks.


For one thing, after losing weight, these wrinkles magically appeared on my forehead. I guess all that extra fat I had filled in the wrinkles or something. But yes, now I can't raise my eyebrows without getting little creases all over my forehead. It's a good trade off, I suppose. I look a little older (I still don't think I look thirty...or almost thirty-one...shh), but it's because I look a lot thinner. I'll take it...and a heavy dose of wrinkle cream...because I'm vain.


The second drawback is that I often have trouble thinking of myself as a thin person. Fat people make jokes about their fat. It's how we let other people know it's okay for them to acknowledge our fatness--and to beat rude people to the punch. Maybe it's a sign of bad self-esteem because of our fatness...idk. And notice I am still including myself in that "we" and "our," even though I'm no longer a fat person. I still think of myself as being bigger. I catch myself making a joke about my fatness, only to accidentally insult a currently fat person--because I'm no longer included in the fat club. And I forget.


And sometimes I make those fat comments around guys who start thinking I'm one of those girls who thinks she has to go on diets all the time even though she's a perfectly healthy weight. ...maybe I AM one of those girls now...?


I've even bought shirts at stores only to have to return them because I forgot that I no longer wear an extra large. I now wear a small (or sometimes a medium). And really, it's hard to think of myself as a size small. In my brain, I'm still a fat person. I have to remind myself over and over again that I do wear a size small.


When I walk by people, I tend to give them too much room to get past me because I forget that I don't take up as much space. One time I was trying to get by someone in a restaurant, and she scooted her chair in so I could get by. I said, "It's okay, I'll go around the other way. There's not enough room for me." But there was. There was plenty of room. I just pictured myself as a large person trying to get through a space that was actually big enough for an average sized person to fit through. So the person who was nice enough to scoot in her chair started thinking I was calling HER fat...ugh...and social awkwardness ensued.


So yeah. Losing weight involves more than just, well...losing weight. I've also lost some of my identity. It's not necessarily a bad thing. I just have to remind myself that I'm no longer a chubby little girl, but a slender young woman (emphasis on the YOUNG). I'm still gonna have this distorted picture of myself, and it will probably get worse if I DO reach that goal of losing another 15 pounds.


Meh. Even if I lose more weight, I'm afraid I won't lose the awkwardness. It's here to stay, folks.


If you're trying to lose weight, I definitely recommend it...if it's for the right reasons. Just be warned--it might take you a while to lose the "fat mentality." I'll let you know if I ever get used to not being fat.

Embarrassing Confession #5: Shoulda Had a Type A

When I was a kid, I used to drink V8 and pretend I was a vampire drinking blood.

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Sometimes I still do that.

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I may or may not have pretended my V8 was blood today.

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It was good.

SSA Episode #13: The Woman Who Saved Valentine's Day

It's Socially Awkward Adventure #13! I hope none of my readers have triskaidekaphobia. Yes. I had to look up the correct spelling for that. No, that's not what this blog is about.

Have you ever wanted to do something nice for someone (or a group of people), but you lose track of time and find yourself scrambling at the last minute, and by the time you realize that it's too late to accomplish this nice thing, you kind of wish you hadn't thought of doing this nice thing in the first place?

If you could understand what I just wrote, I hope you can answer "No, Ruth. That's just you." Yes, the above scenario is something I have dealt with time and time again. Like, I get this idea that I'm going to make guacamole for a party (seriously...I make awesome guacamole. It's so good I call it "ROCKamole"), then I realize at the last minute that I don't have any avocados, and the only ones I can find in the stores are either too mushy or too hard, and then when I FINALLY find some ripe ones after going to four different stores, I realize I don't have at least an hour and a half to make this guacamole.

Apparently, this blog has a theme today, and this theme is run-on sentences...but I digress...

This post is not about Valentine's Day. Well, it is, but only indirectly. Okay, so it's about Valentine's Day. I mean, sort of...

So recently I saw this card for single people that said something stupid like, "I believe there is someone for everyone out there, and one day you will find yours. Until then, know that I love you and lots of other people do too." Basically, what that says to me is, "Here's a card so you won't feel lonely while the rest of us married people are at home snuggling with our spouses. Enjoy!"

The thing is, I'm really NOT bummed about Valentine's Day at all. Not at all. I haven't been for several years...and I've been single for several years. In fact, I've only been "with" someone for one Valentine's Day out of my whole life. But I'm not into that whole "Single Awareness Day" or whatever. It's Valentine's Day. I love Valentine's Day! Do you want to know why?

It's because I love kids. I mean, maybe if I had a significant other, I might just think Valentine's Day was all about showing my love to him. But...somehow I doubt it. I mean, all these froo froo hearts and flowers just don't make me feel romantic. They make me feel cutesy. Kids are good with cutesy.

I love getting those perforated valentine's cards to give to the kids in my life. I love putting together Valentine packages for my nieces and nephew. I love putting heart stickers all over the place. I love reading conversation hearts and just being flat out sickeningly adorable. I love Valentine's Day. And the greatest joy to me every Valentine's Day is giving cards/presents to the kids I love.

So...

Late last night I got this idea that I wanted to get individually wrapped rice krispies treats for the kids in my preschool class. We were having a Valentine's party today, so I thought it might be a nice gesture. I figured I had PLENTY of time to run out in the morning and get some rice krispies treats from CVS. Only CVS didn't seem to have any rice krispies treats--at least not that I could see. And CVS is pretty hopping on random Thursday mornings, especially when the ground is covered with a very light dusting of snow that will have completely melted away by noon--because in the South, if there's snow, that means everyone needs milk and bread immediately and at the same time, or the world will explode in a rainbow of heart-shaped confetti. So I couldn't ask anyone where the rice krispies treats were because all the employees were busy helping people find bread and milk that didn't seem to exist anymore.

No big deal. I had a plan B! There is a grocery store right around the corner from where I work. So I went there. I was still a few minutes ahead of schedule. It was awesome. I'd run in, find the rice krispies treats, and self-check my way out of there to arrive on time to work in a blaze of rice krispies treats glory. Only I couldn't seem to find the rice krispies treats at this store, either. I was browsing the snack aisle (a logical place to find...ya know...snacks), when I ran into one of the minister's wives from my church. I thought she was amazing before, but listen to this:

She greeted me. I explained my dilemma. She said she thought that the rice krispies treats should be with the snacks, too (logical place, that's all I'm saying). Well, I had to run because by this time I was late for work, so I figured the rice krispies treats were just not meant to be.

Alas. My quest for the rice krispies treats had come to an end. I had failed.

But, I say again, listen to this...(or read this...because it's written and not spoken...whatever...)

As soon as I got to work, I got a phone call from the minister's wife. She had found the rice krispies treats and was bringing me a box! I mean, she was like a super hero. The day was saved! She saved Valentine's Day!

You know how there are all those stupid movies out there about somebody saving Christmas? Ernest Saves Christmas. Noddy Saves Christmas (who's Noddy? Idk.) Elmo Saves Christmas. Dora Saves Christmas. Diego Saves Christmas (wasn't Dora enough?? Apparently not). Inspector Gadget Saves Christmas (I might actually watch that one). Rainbow Brite Saves Christmas. Felix the Cat Saves Christmas. Mater Saves Christmas. Your Mom saves Christmas (I might have made up that last one). Me thinks I should do a blog on "...saves Christmas" movies. Ya know...like sometime around Christmas...because right now it's around Valentine's Day...

Yeah, so anyway, they should make a movie about the lady who brought me rice krispies treats. They should call it "The Woman Who Saved Valentine's Day." I'd watch it.

I'd watch it because I lived it.

...and I still have half a box of rice krispies treats to prove it.

Embarablast from the Past, Episode #6: The Mall Kiosk Dude

I do not have naturally curly hair. I have naturally poofy hair. Therefore, there are two things I must do in order to have hair that doesn't eat small children.

1) I must put lots of straightening/nonpoofifying/smoothing product in my hair and then blow dry it so that it is almost straight. Hair straighteners do not work for me. I have used them. As soon as I walk outside, if there is the slightest bit of humidity, it frizzes out all over the place. Plus, I do NOT have the patience for them. I have better things to do with my time than spend half an hour trying to make my poofy hair be straight.

2) I must put lots of gel in my hair and let it dry (usually overnight). Then it's curly and still somewhat poofy. So THEN I have to put a little mousse in it to control the flyaways and douse my entire head in copious amounts of hairspray. Then it's curly and mostly nonpoofy...and 83% less likely to eat small children.

And I just spent a few paragraphs talking about my hair. ...no wonder I'm socially awkward.

Before getting to the point, I feel the need to mention one other thing. In the summer of 2007, I spent two weeks in Thailand. It wasn't even enough to fully develop culture shock, but man, I sure did pick up one really bad habit. In Thailand, I experienced something both remarkable and terrifying: The Night Market. There were hundreds of little booths up and down the street, where the most persistent sellers you have ever met in your life were trying to sell you the most useless junk you have ever seen in your life. Now, there was some good stuff there. I bought about a gazillion Thai silk neckties for about $2.50 each (Thai Ties, get it?). But all the sellers there were intent on getting all the "rich Americans" to buy their stuff. So if you even looked as though you might possibly make eye contact with any of them, they would attack you until you bought their stuff.

So I quickly learned that the only way for a sucker like me to survive was to NEVER make eye-contact with any of them. If some of them still persisted, and most of them did, then I had to be agressive. I had to firmly and loudly say "NO" in order for them to get the idea that I wasn't going to buy from them. Unfortunately, I brought this mentality back to America with me.

I remember being in Walmart a week after I got back. There was this really sweet looking young woman who was trying to get people to sign up for the bank that's inside my Walmart. I saw her approach me out of the corner of my eye, and bless her. The only words she said was, "Hello, would you like...." I turned to her and loudly exclaimed "NO!" She backed up about a good foot and meekly apologized. I felt like such a jerk. Well, I was a jerk, but it was because I still had the "an American in Thailand" mentality.

Anyway, so a few months after this, I decided to go to the mall. I almost never go to the mall because it kind of freaks me out a little. I much prefer the thrift store. I was only going on this particular occasion because I wanted some hand soap from Bath and Body Works. It was a nice day, so I had the sunroof open on my car, and my hair may or may not have gotten tangled in it, causing it to look poofier than usual. Yeah.

So I went into the mall. On my way to B&BW, I ran into a guy at a mall kiosk. Almost literally. He was chasing me and almost ran into me. Why was he chasing me? Because my hair looked like it was in severe need of straightening and he happened to be selling a hair straightener.

"Would you like to try this hair straightener?" he asked.

I turned and looked at him. No joke, the guy looked like Kenny G...only carrying a hair straightener instead of a saxophone. He was the last person who needed to be giving me advice on hair care.

"No, thanks," I said. I continued on my way.

He kept following me. "I really think you should try this out."

"Look," I said. "I don't use hair straighteners. I just use a blow dryer and it's fine."

Dude GRABBED my arm and said, "Oh, no! You have GOT to try this!"

My "an American in Thailand" mentality kicked in full gear. "NO!" I exclaimed. I stamped my foot like a three year old who couldn't have a cookie. "NO! I said NO!"

The guy backed off. Kenny G went back to his kiosk. I stood there for a moment, realizing that innocent bystanders probably thought the guy was trying to do something to me besides straighten my hair.

I was red-faced and embarassed, but I continued on to the store. When I approached, I saw that the little bars were being rolled down. The mall was closing. It was Sunday, and they closed earlier than the rest of the week. D'oh.

I didn't get any hand soap that day. I did get a totally humiliating experience.

I hope Kenny G met his hair straightening quota for the day. ...or maybe I don't.

SSA Ep. #12: Invisible Leprosy

Aside from my chronic Social Awkwardness, I have another ailment. It's curable, but the older I get the chance of successfully curing it gets slimmer and slimmer. Fortunately, it's a condition that doesn't prevent me from living a normal life (as normal as my life gets) about 85% of the time. Some people don't seem to even notice I have this condition; it's not a big deal to them. Some treat me with derision. Others seem to think they must pity me and condescend to me. Some are completely and utterly afraid of me and my condition, and they avoid me at all costs. You see, I have Invisible Leprosy.

In other words, I'm a single woman in my thirties.

Being single doesn't bother me much. I just think it's hilarious the way other people treat me sometimes.

Some people seem to think that there must be something horribly wrong with me since I never got married. There are four ways this attitude usually goes:

1) There must be something wrong with her because no guy wants her.

I don't have much of a response for that. Maybe *those* people are right...but I have a different opinion. Personally, I haven't met a guy strong enough for someone like me. Not just ANY guy can handle this much socially awkward awesomeness.

2) She's one of those women who focused on her career so she never had time for marriage and family.

Lol...I work in childcare. Do people REALLY think I'm focusing on my career? I'd LOVE for a guy to romance me, sweep me off my feet, and then provide a steady income with health insurance benefits. I'd kind of like to take care of my OWN kids for a change, too.

3) She hates men.

...No. I don't. Moving on.

4) She's a lesbian.

...FACEPALM... No.

There are also people who feel the need to condescend to me and pity me. I have had SEVERAL conversations that went something like this:

Condescending Person: So are you married?
Me: No.
CP: Oh... *averts eyes as if they'd just insulted me*
Me: I'm content being single. It's not a big deal.
CP: Well, there are plenty of single guys out there.
Me: No, really, I'm cool with it.
CP: AND you are still young. You have PLENTY of time.
Me: Um, I know. But being single doesn't bother me. Really. At all.
CP: Well, I'll be praying God brings the right man into your life.
Me: I prayed that for years. Apparently, it's not His will for me right now. I'm okay with that.
CP: DON'T GIVE UP FAITH!
Me: I'm not, I'm just accepting the life He's graciously given me...
CP: You know what, I think I know a guy who would be perfect for you. I can set you up.
Me: Oh, would you look at the time! I must be going now. I've got an appointment with the pillow I'm going to cry into because I'm completely sad and alone and useless without a husband.

Another attitude I get is one where the person seems to get the impression that I'm "called to singlehood." In fact, I get this attitude a lot from people who need things: "You're single! God has called you to live a life free from the trappings of marriage so that you can help out others. So you need to drop everything and help me out with my problem."

I'm not called to singlehood, okay. I'm called to live the life God has given me whether it be married or single. I'm called to live. I'm more than happy to help out when I can and where I can, but I need to make something very clear. Just because I'm single and don't have kids, it does NOT mean I have all the free time in the world. I work three jobs and try to write in the little free time I have. Also, I try to maintain a meager semblance of a life. So no, I'm not required to help out with any task someone else thinks I'm supposed to do just because I'm single. But thanks for thinking of me...

I have to say that the funniest reaction I get to my Invisible Leprosy comes from guys.

When a guy figures out I'm single, he usually does one of three things. 1) If he's okay with me being single, then he just treats me as he would do any lady who is not his wife. 2) If he's married and NOT okay with me being single, then he will make a point to display his wedding band and mention that he is happily married to his beautiful wife and that he loves his 2.3 children, and then he'll get away from me as soon as possible. 3) If he's single and NOT okay with me being single, then he'll stutter a lot and mention that he is considering going into foreign missions and/or becoming a monk...and then he'll also get away from me as soon as possible.

Don't get me wrong. I completely understand the need for boundaries in male/female friendships. In fact, I am rarely comfortable being friends with a married guy if I'm not also friends with his wife. His wife is the most important person in his life (or should be), so I feel that I can't really be friends with him until I'm friends with her. I also think it's a good practice to try not to be alone with a married guy. With single guys, I think it's good to only hang out in groups unless we've agreed to pursue a dating relationship. I mean, even the most innocent friendships can be misread. People like to gossip and spread rumors. It's a good idea to be careful. I'm not going to have a spaz attack if something happens and I have to hitch a ride with a guy I'm not married to or whatever, though. It's just not that big of a deal...

But it really bothers me when a married guy practically runs away from me, just as it bothers me when a single guy assumes that I'm after him just because he is also single.

ATTENTION: Just because I am single, it does not mean I am a homewrecker. Just because I am single, it does not mean I am going to go after any single guy I can find. Just because I am single does not mean I am desperate. Just because I am single does not mean you have to be afraid of me. I'm safe. My condition is not contagious.

...or then again, maybe it is.

So on second thought, don't touch me. I'm a girl. I'm single. I have cooties.

SAA #11: My Shell

In the past few months, I have had more than one person tell me that they didn't realize I had a personality until they became friends with me on Facebook.

I'm not sure how to take a comment like that. It's like the time my choir director told me, "I can honestly say that our Christmas cantata would not have been the same without you." I mean, what does THAT mean, exactly?

Anyway, I know that people who say such things aren't trying to be rude. They're just being honest without really thinking...like when someone tells you, "You look tired." The fact is, I know that my offline presence is sometimes different than my online presence--especially for people who don't know me very well.

For years and years and years I struggled with the idea that there was something wrong with me. I mean, most people will tell you that they think it's preferable to be an extrovert than an introvert. Even if they don't tell you this, it's often evident from people's attitudes that they think it's better to be extroverted than introverted. But I'm an introvert. I'm Socially Awkward Girl, after all. That's not to say I don't love people. I've got a LOT of friends. I just need some time to get to know people before I "come out of my shell."

So whenever I am thrown into a new situation where I don't know people all that well, I come across as someone who has no personality whatsoever. I don't talk much. When I do talk, it's usually just to answer another person's question as succinctly as possible. I used to feel guilty about this, and once I even tried to do something about it. It was then that I realized that it is not a good idea to try to force myself out of my shell.

I need my shell. Actually, that's not entirely true. Other people need my shell. I have had a few friends who have tried to get me to come out of my shell before I was ready to come out of it. They didn't realize the truth that I have learned over the years.

You see, I have a theory that God knew exactly what He was doing when He gave me a shell. I do have a personality. I have a bizarre, unusual, sometimes scary personality. In fact, my personality is so strange that it comes with its own built in security device. You see, if I were to reveal my amazing and awkward weirdness to complete strangers, I would scare most of them away (that's what happened when I tried to force myself out of my shell once). God made my shell so that it chips away very, very gradually, just a little bit at a time. As I become more comfortable with people, little pieces of my odd personality appear. Over time, I come completely out of my shell and everyone realizes that I'm utterly bonkers, but at that point, it's okay. They had time to get used to my weirdness, and therefore they weren't overwhelmed by it.

You see, there's something people should know about me when they try to get me out of my shell. It takes me a while to come out of it, but once I am out THERE IS NO WAY TO GET ME BACK INSIDE. If you wish I'd come out of my shell, you'd better be careful for you wish for.

Back to the whole Facebook thing. I'm a better writer than a speaker. I make no excuse for that. It's how God made me. It's a lot easier for my quirkiness to come out when I'm updating my Facebook status, or when I'm making some random comment on a friend's wall. I think that my written insanity is a lot easier to take than my insanity in person--especially if you don't know me that well.

And if people see two different sides of me, the witty, quirky online me and the quiet, shy offline me, then that's okay, too. It just makes me seem mysterious. And socially awkward people don't get to feel mysterious that often. I mean, sometimes when I'm wearing my black trench coat, I start feeling mysterious. Then I start humming my own theme music and leaping around in time to it. And then I trip over my own feet...and poof! The mystery is gone.

...that's all I have to say about that.

SAA Ep. #10: Greetings on the Go

I recently got a new cell phone with one of those slide out mini qwerty (I love saying qwerty...I like taking every available opportunity to say the word qwerty) keyboards. I also finally joined the 21st century and got in on a texting plan, which has revolutionized my life. No more must I tell my friends (yes, even Socially Awkward Girl has friends...) not to text me because it costs extra money. I can now text to my heart's content and send my BFFs awkward messages about "lookn @ thongs @ store" when I really meant "lookn @ THINGS @ store" (for those who are texting impaired, that means "I am currently looking at things at the store for no apparent reason and decided to send you a text about it just because I can.")

I've only had the new (qwerty!) phone and text plan for less than a month, and already I've learned a few important things: 1) I really should turn my phone on silent when I don't want people to hear my silly "Monty Python" ringtone that loudly sounds every single time a person sends me a text. 2) Since I don't get much of a phone signal in my apartment, the most effective way to send a text from said apartment is to lift my phone over my head and carefully swing it back and forth whilst shouting "Whoo Whoo Whoo!" The shouting probably doesn't help, but it seems appropriate somehow. 3) I cannot walk and text (on my awesome qwerty keyboard) at the same time without endangering myself and others.

In fact, I've found that I have great difficulty walking and doing much of anything else. It seems my brain can only focus on one thing at a time. My brain can concentrate on moving my legs back and forth without causing them to trip over themselves (about 62% of the time...which is an improvement), but my brain can't handle any other activity at the same time.

I believe this is why I have such a hard time with greetings on the go. If you're from the South, you probably know what I'm talking about. I've heard that people up North just don't talk to other people...at least not to strangers. But down where I live, if you pass a stranger on the street, it's expected that you will at least acknowledge the other person's existence. Usually, this is done with a simple intercourse of phrases:

Person 1: "Hello. How are you?"
Person 2: "Well, hello to you as well. I am doing well. How are you?"
Person 1: "I am doing well, also. I just got a new phone with a qwerty keypad.
Person 2: (polite chuckle) "That is nice. Isn't this fine weather we are having?"
Person 1: "Yes. Yes it is. I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow."
Person 2: "Me too. I hope the remainder of your day is pleasant."
Person 1: "You too. Goodbye."
Person 2: "Bye, now."

Okay, so maybe most interactions are not that long, but most people (at least in the South) will at least say hi to another person they pass on the street.

However, my brain is only able to focus on walking. I find that when I pass people on the street, I try to say hi, but it doesn't work. I think the problem is, since my brain is working on keeping my legs moving, it doesn't have the capability to also control my speech. It tries to work out the phrasing for "Hello" and "How are you?" all at the same time. And if the other person speaks first and asks me how I am, then my brain is also trying to work out the phrase "I am fine." The end result is that I end up grunting out some kind of unintelligible combination of "Hello, how are you, I am fine." It usually sounds something like, "Hggggag." That's not a word. It doesn't even sound like a word. Qwerty, however, does sound like a word. An awesome, awesome word.

The funny thing is, even after hearing my nonsensical grunt, the other person always just keeps walking. It's probably because their brains are too busy trying to manipulate their legs that they don't have energy to even think about how ridiculous my response just sounded.

Sometimes strange things also happen when I come across people I know. For example, the other day I saw the pastor from my church in a store. I like my pastor, but I wouldn't say we're BFF qwerty texting buddies or anything. Plus, I'm used to seeing him at church while we're both surrounded by church people and doing church things. So we were both in an unfamiliar surrounding and therefore in a slightly socially awkward situation. What did we do? At the same exact time, in perfect unison, we both said, "Hi. How are you? I'm fine."

And we kept walking.

At least I didn't grunt some kind of strange unintelligible fake word at him.

Embarrassing Confession #4: RIBBONS!!!

I like ribbons. I like to wear them in my hair. A nice ribbon headband gives an outfit a bit of color and makes a great accessory. There's nothing embarrassing about that.

But the reason I like to wear ribbons in my hair is because Samwise Gamgee (not Sean Astin, but Sam Gamgee, mind you) implied that he liked it when Rosie Cotton wore ribbons in her hair. I want to be the kind of girl Samwise Gamgee would find attractive.

Oh right. He's not real.

Embarrassing Confession #3: Alien Pecans

I have a slight aversion to whole shelled pecans (pronounced puh-cahns). I can eat pecan pie or whatever. I just don't like whole shelled pecans.

The reason is because when I was a kid, whole shelled pecans kinda reminded me of E. T.'s head (same basic shape, color, and wrinkleness--combined with an overactive imagination), and I was one of those kids who was afraid of E. T.

Okay. So obviously I had a VERY active imagination.

I like E. T. now, but I still don't like eating whole shelled pecans. Everytime I try to bite into one, I can hear this gravelly voice saying, "I'll be right here."

Shudder.

Embarablast from the Past Episode #5: New Year's Resolutions

So, I'm not entirely sure why, but somehow or another, I completely missed out on the idea that people made New Year's Resolutions until I was in sixth grade (circa 1992). I'm not sure if my parents just never talked about them, or if I was too busy trying to figure out how to make my bangs floofy to really listen.

Incidentally, I never managed to have floofy bangs. The curling iron hated my hair (still does). No matter what I tried, my bangs would not do that completely unnatural floofifying. They remained straight and flat, making me look as though I did NOT have a dead chipmunk attached to my forehead. All the cool kids had floofy dead chipmunk bangs. I was SO uncool. I tried to swoop my bangs to the side so they looked all feathery and dead-birdy, but the poor attempt just served to accentuate the fact that my bangs were nonfloofy and nondeadchipmunkified. My jeans refused to stay tight-rolled, too. Man...

Anyway, I remember sitting in my sixth grade class, minding my own business, when the teacher asked us one of those questions she already knew the answer to. "So, what's the big tradition that EVERYONE celebrates EVERY New Year?"

Since I didn't have floofy bangs, I had to make up for it by being a know-it-all (I was the original Hermonie Granger, yo), so I thrust my hand in the air and shouted, "Oooh! Pick me!"

So the teacher picked me. There was only one tradition I ever remembered my family celebrating, and it had nothing to do with New Year's Resolutions. Or maybe it did, and I just never heard that part over the sound of my generic walkman blasting the New Kids on the Block I'd recorded from the radio because my parents wouldn't buy me their tape. Anyway, when the teacher called on me, I proudly stated, "On New Year's Day everyone eats black eyed peas." I said that because that's what my family did. And still does...for whatever reason.

At this point, I feel the need to mention to my younger readers that the musical group "Black Eyed Peas" had not been invented yet. Fergie was still going by Stacy Ferguson and had just finished her stint on KIDS Incorporated (dude, I wanted to be just like her--but her bangs were floofy, so alas, my dreams were shattered). So there was no confusion that I meant that I ate the musical group "Black Eyed Peas." Back to the story now.

Everyone in the classroom looked at me as though I'd just said that "Family Matters" WASN'T the greatest show ever. The teacher was too weirded out to try to smooth things over. She looked at me as if my sad dead-bird bangs had suddenly come to life, and she said, "Ummmmm...what?"

So then I had the realization that not everyone in the world ate black eyed peas for New Years, and to tell you the truth, it made me kind of mad. Because, honestly, I really don't like black eyed peas. I always secretly dreaded New Year's because mom would make me eat a whole bowl of black eyed peas for good luck. I never got good luck from a bowl of black eyed peas. All I got from black eyed peas was gas. My tastes have changed a little since 1992, but really, black eyed peas are still not my fave.

But sitting in that classroom, I realized I'd said something that other kids deemed weird, so I just kinda stammered a little while the teacher asked the rest of the class to tell her what EVERYONE (except for nondeadchipmunkbanged girls) did for new years. In unison, the whole class shouted, "WE MAKE NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS, RUTH, YOU MORON."

And then everyone had to tell me what New Year's Resolutions were. And thus I was educated in the art of New Year's Resolutions.

My New Year's Resolutions for this year involve not eating black eyed peas (the food OR the musical group--I plan on eating chili mac instead--that's not a musical group too, is it?), never ever ever trying to deadchipmunkify my bangs again, and having many, many more socially awkward adventures to share with you.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!