Oversharing: But I’m Bleeding

May 14, 2013 by 28 Comments

Did you wake up this morning hoping a new pal would Overshare and make you laugh and maybe wince a little? Excellent! We aim to please over here at WhenCrazyMeetsExhaustion, so feast your eyes upon your new friend Jill (aka Ms. PC). She wasn’t always the sophisticated, well-mannered, air-brushed lady you know her as today. In her teenage years, she went through a period of… oversharing. Lucky for us, she’s back to her old ways. At least for today…

OversharingPresents_BackHomeBlog

After spending my childhood being embarrassed by everything imaginable, one day I discovered that everyone is embarrassed constantly. I found this extremely liberating and just ran with it.
In high school I was a “late bloomer,” as parents like to say. God, is there any phrase more mortifying? But it’s accurate, I guess. I didn’t start puberty until I was almost 16. When I finally got my period, it was like an angry volcano that had been buried under the surface for too many years.
Perfect. So now I had a love of oversharing plus something to overshare. I passed my free time regaling my friends with embarrassing tales of feminine protection gone awry. And they loved it. But I still shouldn’t have assumed that everyone would appreciate my openness.
One day in Participatory Government (stupid class), the teacher made me move seats because I was talking too much (shocker). As soon as I moved seats, I asked her if I could go to the bathroom. She stared me down, trying to figure out if… this was some kind of trick, I guess? She was kind of dumb. Anyway, she said no.
That’s when I blurted out “But, I’m bleeding!“
The whole, entire class gasped in unison. I mean, God people, that dramatic, really?
She informed me that the correct thing to say was that I was having feminine lady issue problem times or something. I wanted to argue with her those phrases were just euphemisms and I shouldn’t be made ashamed of my bodily functions but, at this point, time was a factor.
So I just said “Ok, can I go?” And she continued to lecture me. “Ok, can I go?” I repeated. And finally my freedom was granted.
I’d like to think I learned my lesson after that but I have vague memories of traumatizing my now best friend Rachel the first week of college by talking about tampons or something.
I’ve gotten better since then though, definitely. I mean, except for this story. And most everything else on my blog.
Jill is a comedy writer in New York who never got over her adolescent obsession with sitcoms. In fact, she’s currently in production on her first independent web pilot (about which she alternately complains and gushes). <— (Editor’s note: she should totally cast me. Thanks.) Her blog is supposedly about her adventures in living with her new husband and divorced dad, but really about whatever comes into her head.
Blogging every weekday at backhomeblog.com.
If you’re feelin’ the itch to Overshare, submit your story to WhenCrazyMeetsExhaustion [at] gmail [dot] com.



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Masturbation and Rap Music

May 9, 2013 by 6 Comments

Well, hello there!

I’ve written a how-to manual for one of today’s topics, masturbation or rap music. You have to get clicky to figure out which!

To read the masturbation piece, click HERE

To read the rap music piece, click HERE

My daughter turns two today, so if you need me, I’ll be curled up in the fetal position in the corner of my living room. I’ve yet to decide if it’s because I’m sad my baby is no longer a baby or if it’s because I’m frightened of her. It’s probably the latter, but don’t tell her I told you–she’ll throw her shoe at the back of my head while I’m driving again.

Happy Thursday, pals!

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Will you help me win a contest?! Click HERE, “like” Scary Mommy’s Facebook page, click The Book Tour, and cast a vote for the adorable blonde kid on the potty with the iPad! We can vote once a day (from our phones AND computers!) until noon on May 12th. THANK YOU!!!!




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It’s Okay, They Know Me Here

April 24, 2013 by 26 Comments

Happy Wednesday, pals!

The Sadder But Wiser Girl, Sarah, was kind enough to offer up a guest post so I can dedicate my day to the Mt. Everest of laundry that has accumulated in every corner of my house. I’ll be back tomorrow, but until then, show Sarah some love!


We're the Dancers (2)

Who are these people?  They shall remain nameless (except me, I’m the one wearing the really cool sweater) but one thing I can say for sure is that they are family…

Many moons ago, before I had children, I had friends and family.  I mean, I still have friends and family, I just rarely see them.  This is too bad, because we’re quite interesting.

I was inspired to write this thinking of a time when my husband and I were newlyweds.  Several of my female relatives and I gathered at my parent’s house when we were down visiting.  We hung out and talked and laughed and had a generally great time.

Apparently this made an impression on my husband.  He just couldn’t believe what he overheard as he sat in the next room with my dad.  Later on as we drove home, he remarked that “There was all of this constant jabbering, and then it was like you all paused to take a breath and there was this huge whoooosh!  And then the jabbering just kept going.”

I miss that.

We moved a couple of hours away from our friends and family when we got married.  There were opportunities where we lived that we couldn’t get otherwise back home.  Like Engineering school.  And steady work.

As it is, I’m not what one would refer to as a social person.  A nice way to describe me would be “socially awkward”.  A more likely description would be “just plain weird”.  I have a touch of social anxiety.  I like people, I’m just not very good at connecting with them.  I’m not good at small talk.  I’m not good at, well, talking about anything that so-called “normal” people would talk about.

We’ve lived in this area going on 14 years now.  Seven in the town we are currently in.  In those years I have really not found people that I can connect with.  I have a few friends here and there, but no one that I can relate to quite like the aforementioned people.

I haven’t read “50 Shades of Grey” or “Twilight” nor do I want to.  I don’t get manicures and pedicures and blowouts every week.  This seems to be what the so-called normal people around here seem to talk about.  Maybe it’s me.  Oh yeah, it IS me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, I love the fact that I can say something and he gets it and know right what I’m referring to.  But lately he comes home from work every day and has so much to say. He tells me about how he solved problems and ended the world’s agricultural sprayer crisis and is having a litter built so that he can be carried around the plant like the Engineering king that he is…  I feel like all I have to say is “Um, um, SuperGrover didn’t save the world again today.  Caillou is still bald.  My daughter pooped her pants 46 times today.”  So I made that last one up, no one poops their pants THAT much, though it seems like it sometimes…

I miss having things to talk about and people to talk about them with.  I miss the days when I could sit and have conversations with similarly weird people besides my husband (though believe me, we have some CLASSIC conversations).  And have conversations about anything and everything at lightning speed including but not limited to things like the time when my friend thought she lost her mucus plug in the couch.  Or when I accidentally tried to steal someone else’s child at Scheels.   Or when my car literally fell apart in the parking lot at ISU.  Yes, literally.  You can’t make this stuff up!

Enter the internet.  I’ve been slow to embrace all that is has to offer, but I’ve been glad that I have finally seized some of the opportunity.  Since I’m not hampered by a mouth that either can’t form the right words or the brain that moves much faster than my mouth ever could around “normal” people, I can be me and it actually makes me sound kind of cool.  This is because I can go back and write and then edit and rewrite everything before the rest of the world lays eyes on it.  And it looks like I even know what I’m talking about, and maybe even sound like a semi-sane individual.

This makes me glad that I started blogging.  So I could find friends like Stephanie who overshare and write posts about the toileting habits of husbands. Where I can write posts about peeing my pants at Wal-Mart and have it be my most popular of all time and no one bats an eyelash.  Where I can connect with other people with ADD and children who are a little “off”.  A place where people compliment me on what I do and cheer me on.  Yes, I feel right at home here in the blogging world.  Where I’m free to be weird and free to be me.  It’s ok, they know me here.

I still miss hanging out with my similarly wired peeps in person on a regular basis, but I’m glad blogging came along so I don’t go totally crazy in between visits.

Sarah

Sarah Almond roams the earth in search of dark chocolate and caffeinated beverages, but can also be found tap tap tapping at her keyboard writing the wildly unpopular blog The Sadder But Wiser Girl. Read all about her adventures in motherhood and ADD at http://sadderbutwiser.wordpress.com

 

 




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10 Signs That My Frat Party Days Are Over

April 18, 2013 by 30 Comments

Over the weekend, a bunch of 30-somethings intent on reliving our glory days took to a friend’s basement to christen his new bar. We had ourselves a barwarming party, if you will. Don’t judge–it has been a long winter; we deserved it.

Even when I was a freshman in college legal 21-year-old, I couldn’t hold my liquor. I would have a few drinks and giggle myself to sleep. Even so, there were undeniable contrasts between partying like College Crazies of 2000 vs. Tired Parents of 2013. For starters, no one was underage. In fact, some of the guys brought their dads. Seriously, there were grandfathers playing beer pong. They threw at the cups underhand and made a disgrace of the game, but they were so darn cute. 

Some other indications that we can’t hang like we used to…

Frat party days

 

1. The party started at 4:30 in the afternoon. Hilarious.

2. It didn’t take me 3 hours to get ready (the most time consuming part of dressing  was stuffing myself into Spanx) and I didn’t pre-game. Unless you count Candyland as pre-gaming.

3. My husband wanted to bring chili. CHILI. If this had been 10 years ago, and he told the guys he was bringing a crockpot of beans, they would have banned him or at the very least reminded him of the strict College Criteria: if it can’t get me drunk or laid, it’s not welcome.

4. All of the girls remained fully clothed for the duration of the party.

5. We did do shots, but they consisted of specialty vodka and Godiva liquor, and were served in fresh, hollowed-out strawberries with a dollop of whipped cream on top. Pinkies up, bitches.

6. We had designated drivers.

7. Instead of taking sexy duck face pictures, we showed off pics of our kids.

8. In the first round of flip cup, I flipped the cup the wrong way. Barely anyone even noticed, and a riot didn’t erupt despite the fact that my team won. Flip cup circa college times? Someone would’ve been bloodied.

9. I drunk dialed our babysitter.

10. I wanted to get pregnant after the party.

I was hurtin’ the next day. I had to eat my weight in carbs and wear my sunglasses to regain my equilibrium, but it was worth it.

That said, the next time we receive an invitation to live it up à la college, I will suggest heading to a matinee or staying in to watch House Hunters on HGTV. Go big or go home, that’s my motto.




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Why God Gave Me a Girl

April 12, 2013 by 18 Comments

Envisioning my future family, I always saw myself as a mom of boys. I love me some shoes, but I have never been a girly-girl, and I worried that I wouldn’t know what to do with one of my own. Of course I had been told that boys are easier; boys love their Mamas; boys aren’t expensive; boys, boys, boys! I remembered what a project I was as a teenager, and quietly crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t have to experience the kind of drama I put my parents through.

You don’t even know.

The first time my husband and I were expecting, we didn’t find out the sex of the baby. Our boy was born in 2009, and he was automatically showered with sports-related attire, blues and grays, and manly car blankets lest anyone confuse him for a female. I honestly didn’t have a problem with it. I like sports. Blues and grays are nice. I drive a car.

Almost two years later, I was hugely pregnant with our second and we again opted out of gender identification at the ultrasound. Our daughter was born in May of 2011. I was immediately in love. I was also immediately nervous. I didn’t understand why this little ball of baby had me so anxious. Were people expecting me to treat her differently than I did my son? Was I going to have to pretend I loved ruffly, lacy pink dresses? Would my husband treat her like a fragile piece of glass just because she had a vagina? And why did I care when I happily accepted “stereotypical” gifts for my son less than two years earlier?

Fast forward to today, just a few short weeks before my girl’s second birthday: she’s a rough and tumble kind of gal. My first clue? She was born with a fractured clavicle, yet never once let on that it bothered her. She flailed around and moved with ease, as though her tiny bones weren’t trying to fuse themselves back together under her fresh pink skin. Today we have dubbed her Man Hands (after a Seinfeld episode) because she is the opposite of dainty and gentle. Nothing in her path is safe, least of all our hearts, and I love it.

She actually weened herself around 11 months. She saved me the agony over making the “first year” decision, and although I probably would have nursed her for as long as she wanted, Miss Thang decided she had had enough. And that was that. I should also mention that she absolutely refused any artificial nipples of any kind EVER, which posed a few issues, but she’s a girl who knows what she wants and when she wants it. It simultaneously makes me proud and crazy, and I have to give her props for being a little fire cracker.

She has been watching me get ready in the mornings and now insists, “Ella Mommy make-up, too.” I hand her a clean blush brush and she sits there happily swiping pretend “Mommy make-up” on her flawless face. I did give in when the temperatures surpassed 60 degrees, though:

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And between you and me, those little dresses? Kind of adorable.

 

If you’re not busy tomorrow, check back here when I visit my dear friend over at Questionable Choices in Parenting and we offer you an exciting giveaway (my FIRST ever!) from none other than Jill Smokler, AKA: Scary Mommy! 




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An Open Letter to Suzy Weiss, Bitter High School Brat

April 4, 2013 by 53 Comments

Hiya, pals!

If you’re looking to link up with the More Than Mommies Mixer, you’ve come to the right place! Sort of…

The Linky tools aren’t cooperating, so you’ll have to visit HERE for the minimal rules and to link up your blog, Facebook page, Pinterest board, Twitter handle, and/or Google+ profile. We aim to please at the Mixer, eh?!

Before you head over to Christine and Janene’s newly redesigned spot, feel free to stick around for a sec to read my most recent rant. Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you:

Image and video hosting by TinyPic

If you’re not familiar with this student or her story, school yourself HERE. If, after you’ve read about her, you’re not disgusted, move along. My letter is none too complimentary…

Dear Suzy,

Hello. I am white so my ideas are very important. You may not like them, but that’s okay. In fact, you are encouraged to contact Anderson Cooper regarding my communication, as I would so love to be on his show and my blog could really use the exposure.

Now that we’ve gotten the formalities out of the way, let’s examine the “satire” you wrote after being rejected from various Ivy League schools, AKA: #FirstWorldProblems.

First up, you acknowledge that you “offer[s] about as much diversity as a saltine cracker.” You’re clearly referring to the fact that your skin is void of tan; however, I would like to politely point out that your personality is also pretty blah. Sure, you’re impressive using words like dearth, but I can’t help but wonder if some of your sparkling charm seeped through your college essays, solidifying your spot on admission’s Oh Hell No List. I also wonder if you have many friends. Why would I say such a thing about a kid? Because you said this:

“…had I known two years ago what I know now, I would have gladly worn a headdress to school. Show me to any closet, and I would’ve happily come out of it.”

In keeping with my girl Tina Fey’s SNL skit, I respond with REALLY?! Really, Suzy? So you would gladly become a minority who has experienced intolerance, social injustice, bullying and bigotry to go to a fancy school? Just want to make sure I’m understanding you. To clarify: you’re an elitist?

Let’s keep this ship sailing, shall we?

I’m not going to lie to you, Suzy; I kinda wanted to punch you in the larynx when I read this part of your fascinating “satire:”

“I should have done what I knew was best.  Go to Africa, scoop up some suffering child, take a few pictures, and write my essays about how spending that afternoon with Kinto changed my life.”

Holy shit, Suzy. You’re a real piece of work.

Know what I make my son do when we’re done playing Candyland? We shake hands and the loser offers the winner a heartfelt congratulations. You may find this silly because you prefer to throw tantrums when you don’t get your own way, but I believe (I went to a state school, so really, what do I know?) that I’m modeling the kind of respectful behavior that I hope my son emulates when he doesn’t make the team or is rejected from his college of choice.

Listen, I know that you are disappointed. I can imagine how disgusted you and Mom and Dad were when you sat down at the dinner table to discuss how unfair it is that those pesky African American, gay, and Indian students stole your spot at Stanford. But would it have been so hard to shake your classmates’ hands and congratulate them? Maybe publicly making nice with those you have offended would have helped your cause? I don’t know, it works for celebrities…

Here’s the thing, Suz. Can I call you Suz? I give you credit for not accepting no as the answer and for keeping your eye on the prize. More power to ya, really. But the manner in which you presented yourself, in writing and on national television, made you look like a bitter, spoiled, pretentious, entitled brat. And don’t even get me started on your parents! Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy for you and your GPA. Your SAT scores are incredible, and as an English teacher who hails from your neck of the woods (how ’bout them Buccos?!), I would give my left arm to have a student of your caliber in my class. That said, numbers and scores don’t speak to your character; your actions speak to your character. And after your stint on The Today Show, a lot of people think you’re not very nice. I am among them.

I understand that not everyone will share my opinion; in fact, I’ve spoken with some this evening who believe what you are saying has merit. To each her own. But the bottom line is this: life has a way of leveling the playing field. I am currently working with Harvard and Notre Dame graduates (please recall that I attended a state school), and these women make the same amount of money as I, and–hold onto your seat, Suz–we are friends.

Do you need a minute?

I sincerely wish you all the best, and I hope that you achieve your goals and reach your dreams and all that other happy crap. In the meantime, if you need a lesson in humility and grace, my 3-year-old and his Candyland board are available after nap time.

Please don’t compare your writing to 30 Rock ever again,

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In Honor of National Poetry Month

April 3, 2013 by 11 Comments

Welcome to class, students. Today I’m going to drop some knowledge on you about National Poetry Month. <— There it is. Read it.

Throughout the month of April, I am going to revise some of my favorite poems and dedicate them to the people in my life. Today’s piece is inspired by the incomparable Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise,” and has been re-written for the father of my children. He is also my husband which works out well because I don’t have enough time to write two poems.

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<Clearing my throat>

I burp like a dude
Don’t close the door when I pee
Impossible when I’m in a mood
Still, you love me.

Silverware in the dishwasher must be organized
You know I am 50 shades of crazy
PMS leaves us both traumatized
Still, you love me.

I live on my laptop
You’re kind to just let me be
Once I start, I just can’t stop
Still, you love me.

Dark circles under my eyes
Not as vibrant as when I was twenty
Jiggly thighs
Still, you love me.

Don’t like the word no
Sometimes speak critically
I can be a real shit show
Still, you love me.

Me and cooking, not so much
Kids and work can consume me
With just a sweet touch, I know
Still, you love me.

I forget to water plants
Been slacking on the laundry
Never got around to ironing your pants
Still, you love me.

Can’t always put us first
You understand whole-heartedly
Don’t make me feel like I’m the worst
Still, you love me.

I won’t pick up the dog poo
I tell jokes only I think are funny
You hold me to our “I do’s”
Still, you love me.




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Oversharing: Naked at the YMCA

April 2, 2013 by 21 Comments

Helloooo! Welcome to a Tuesdaylicious Oversharing, brought to you by Kerry from HouseTalkN. The name and blog sound familiar? That’s because Kerry’s funny is featured in the Momthology I Just Want to Pee Alone (you did buy it, didn’t you?!). She graciously agreed to participate in my Oversharing: I Ain’t Scarrred Series the second I advertised it and for that, I love her. Well, I also love her because she was nekkid at the YMCA, but I’ll let her tell you about that…

OversharingPresents_HouseTalkN

 

We had taken our four little darlings to the YMCA for some family basketball and a quick swim. As we were winding up our nightly shenanigans visit, my mister offered, “Why don’t I take the kids home and you stay here to relax in the women’s hot tub?” By the time he uttered “hot tub” I was already sprinting toward the “Women Only” sign.

In my rush, I forgot that I had (literally) left my mister holding the bag. The bag with all of our wet suits. The bag with MY suit. The suit with a hawt matching skirt. The skirt that I swore I would never own. I spent the next 37 seconds having a mental argument with myself. Here is a sampling of the thoughts that were flying through my head.

-It’s almost closing time…I bet everyone else is gone already.
-I.cannot.get.in.there.naked!
-Just do it, stop being a chicken!
-God is smiting me for making fun of the casually naked folks that stand around the locker room talking/drying hair/applying make-up/doing jumping jacks -while naked- as if doing these things NAKED is totally normal. Would you do these things while naked in front of house guests or in any other setting?
-Look what has happened to me! I am afraid to get naked all by my d**n self in a women’s locker room hot tub.

I finally threw caution to the wind, stripped down and climbed into the hot tub. A full 6 seconds passed before I heard the dreaded squeak of the door. I quickly positioned myself so that the intruder would not be able to see my…er, situation.

Big mistake.

As Ms. Stepford bounced into the hot tub, in full make-up, coiffed hair and her very appropriate tankini, she was unprepared for what awaited her. Her smile quickly faded as we both stared at the wall for answers. She lasted in the hot tub for 9 seconds. She didn’t even warn the young swimmer that she knocked over on her way out.

That’s right.

Next up- a college hard body swimmer type. She also met the sneak attack. Not having the sophistication of Ms. Stepford to look away, Ms. Hard Body actually gawked.


I could see that this was going to be a standoff. She was either too competitive to bolt or she was frozen with fear.
I contemplated an attempt at conversation. What would I say? “Just you wait, this will happen to your body, too?” I knew that “You want a piece of this?” could be misconstrued.

It was the creak of the door that put me over the edge…sent me into naked freak out land.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I panicked. I bolted.
As I was leaping over Ms. Hard Body Gawker, I assured myself that it couldn’t get any worse.
Wrong.

The newest addition to my hell was a woman with a headscarf. The very picture of modesty had entered the YMCA locker room precisely in time to see a naked American woman flying through the air.

It took another 13 seconds to get dressed and perform the run of shame to the lobby.
I was shocked to see that my family had just reached the lobby.
Had all of that just happened in such a short amount of time?
Was I in the Twilight Zone?

Here is the part about why I love my husband. Besides the part about family YMCA nights, and besides the part about taking the kids home. My mister took one look at me and knew that this was no time for silly questions. He spoke the sweetest, most romantic words ever.

“Kids, run for the van.”

*******

Love Kerry like I do? Check out her blog HERE or follow her on FB HERE.

If you want to participate, check out the Oversharing page (above) on my blog!

Kerry is addicted to houses! She loves to look at them, talk about them, think about them, visit them and talk about them some more! House TalkN is a fun lookiloo at houses, houses, houses. It answers pressing questions like, “When folks build a McMansion on a small lot, what are they compensating for?” or “Was the real estate agent drunk when they staged this house?” or “Why don’t the Smiths’ ever leave their drapes open when [Kerry is] on a harmless walk-by?”

 




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Things I’ve Learned from NaBloPoMo with a Side of Optimism

April 1, 2013 by 29 Comments

March is in the books, pals. Today, the first day of April, means I am officially done with BlogHer’s NaBloPoMo challenge. It was fun, and I’m glad I gave it a whirl, but at times, it really hurt my brain.

MenZach

 

Here are a few of the things I’ve learned from participating:

  • Less is ultimately more.
  • Despite invading inboxes and clogging Facebook feeds for a full month, some of those closest to me continue to ignore the fact that I have a blog, have been published elsewhere on the web, and have even experienced a little monetary success with my writing. Kinda hurts my heart.
  • On the flip-side, I have AH-mazing readers and supporters who were by my side for the full 31-days. You read, you commented, you pimped out what you liked most, and for that, I thank you. You keep me writing.
  • I’ve yet to figure out the best time of day or day of the week to publish as to maximize exposure. This was one of my personal goals during NaBloPoMo and I failed. I’m over it.
  • A half a dozen people, some with whom I speak every day, others I haven’t seen in years, have contacted me to let me know they’ve started writing/blogging because they were inspired by my crazy. If that’s not reason enough to keep writing, I don’t know what is!
  • Link-ups and themed writings are great remedies for a brain fart.
  • My Oversharing series seems to be a hit! Weeeee! Speaking of which…

tune in tomorrow when Kerry from House TalkN stops by to Overshare. You may recognize Kerry’s funny from “her” best-selling book, I Just Want to Pee Alone, but tomorrow she will be dishing about the time she was naked. At the YMCA.




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A Letter to My 16-year-old Self

March 30, 2013 by 19 Comments

Dear 1996 Stephanie,

16-years-old, very exciting! You’ll be driving soon, just not as soon as you had hoped; it was super cool of your dad to pretend the DMV was closed so you don’t have to confess to failing your permit test. That dad, he’s not too shabby. I know he gets on your nerves with his loud voice and embarrassing comments, but listen to me: he is your biggest fan. Let him ramble on about “the time he was your age” because one day, you’ll start your stories the same way. Allow him to fake-vomit when he meets your boyfriends or sees your new pair of shoes. He’s worth it. Just wait until he breaks down and cries when he sees you in your wedding gown.

I’m getting ahead of myself. I just want to share a few nuggets of knowledge, being that I am an expert in all things Stephanie…

* You are not fat. You have a gymnast’s body which means you have more muscle tone than most dudes you go to high school with. Do not let them bring you down.

* Your nose doesn’t get smaller. You live.

* Stop allowing your friend to color your hair in her bathroom. It’s going to turn orange in about two months…

* When your mom suggests that you major in education in college, don’t major in Journalism just to prove her wrong. You’re meant to be a teacher; don’t fight it.

* That guy you just started dating? Despite what you believe, he will not father your children. Resist the urge to humiliate yourself begging him to come back after he breaks your heart.

* That guy you will date in college? Your brother is right: d-o-u-c-h-e.

* That one other guy you will meet on spring break, the one with the Boston accent? Ohhhh yeeaaaahhhhh.

* You won’t have to put up with the Spice Girls much longer. You’re welcome.

* I know they’re not that popular now, but you want all Apple products. Trust me on this one.

* Continue declining opportunities to babysit. You’re doing the right thing by working at the movie theater; you’ll change enough diapers some day.

* Drink more water now. Some day, you will have three sips and then pee yourself a little when you sneeze. No joke.

* Keep writing.

* Your family loves President Clinton, but keep an eye on his wife. She’s pretty impressive in her own right.

* Don’t be afraid to step outside of your comfort zone and do something crazy. Dance naked in the rain or something.

* CDs don’t really need to be alphabetized. Really.

* Your best friend now is still your best friend. Pretty cool, right?

* You will meet three other girls in college and against all odds, the four of you will live together in a small apartment and not kill one another. Those same girls will be in your wedding, visit your newborns in the hospital (I’m not telling you just how many newborns!), and be a part of your life for a really long time. At one point you will feel like you’re drifting apart, so you are gonna have to man up and talk to them about your feelings. I know this is difficult for you because you prefer to be angry, but grow up already.

* In your sophomore year of college, you will be faced with a choice: the responsible thing vs. one of the greatest nights of your life. Keep your dad’s words in mind: stop and smell the roses.

* Keep your eye on that math teacher/baseball coach who tutors your brother.

* Each time someone calls you a bitch, it means you have made the right decision or voiced a necessary opinion, usually in favor of the underdog. Eventually “bitch” will be replaced with “feminist,” and you will be proud of the woman you’ve become.

* Graduating high school  graduating college  beginning your career will seem to be the most difficult and exciting thing you’ve ever done. But one day, you will raise human beings and that, my friend, will trump all the rest.

* And finally, younger more vibrant version of me, if you can nap, do it. Sleep is a sweet, sweet commodity and you will miss it when it’s gone.

Carry on,

2013 Stephanie

 

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This is my first time (tee hee) linking up at Jenn’s place. If you love the idea of Theme Thursday, check her out HERE!

 

 




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